


Can't Stop Watching

by DreamWalkLady



Series: Whatever You Need [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betty has a dirty talk kink, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mentioned Southside Serpents Gang, Smut, Sweet Pea has a potty mouth, SweetBee is my new kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27104794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamWalkLady/pseuds/DreamWalkLady
Summary: Sweet Pea figures FP's retirement party should be pretty uneventful. At least, as uneventful as a party at the Whyte Wyrm can be.He hadn't counted on being shown something that has him fascinated. Something he hadn't known he wanted.And now he can't look away.
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Sweet Pea, Betty Cooper/Sweet Pea
Series: Whatever You Need [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984864
Comments: 53
Kudos: 133
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	1. Sweet Dreams, Cupcake

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there fellow Riverdale fans! I've had the idea for this fic for a while and I'm so happy I finally get to post here! This is the first fic I've written in YEARS and my first Riverdale fic ever so I hope you like it. 
> 
> To all Bughead fans out there, know that I am one of you. I love Jughead. That being said, the first chapter of this story is told from Sweet Pea's POV, and he profoundly dislikes Jug so be ready for our precious beanie-wearing Serpent to be trash-talked. 
> 
> Now, I absolutely have to thank [Lucivar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucivar/pseuds/Lucivar) who was kind enough to be my beta reader. English isn't my first language so she had her work cut out for her! She also provided me with countless suggestions, almost all of which I adopted. If you are not yet familiar with her work, you should definitely change that because her stories are seriously addictive! 
> 
> On that note, have a great read!

Sweet Pea fucking hates the Northside. 

Well, the Northsiders, really. 

To him, they are just a bunch of prissy assholes who have no idea how good they have it. They have literally everything while the Southsiders are left with a run-down, drug-infested pile of crap. And it goes even beyond that. No matter how good the Northsiders have it, the second they so much as break a fingernail, they blame the Southside. So periodically, they rile themselves up into some screwed-up town-wide intervention and try to deal with “the Southside problem.” In the end, their half-assed efforts always end up creating more issues for the Southside, of which the Northsiders wash their hands (of course). 

Despite his resentment toward the Northside, Sweet Pea isn’t delusional. Like all who grew up in the Southside, he’s had a front-row seat to the kind of tragedy that can only happen when enough desperate people are thrown together. So, he knows they have more than their fair share of scumbags and lowlifes. They do not, however, have the _monopoly_ on scumbags and lowlifes, whatever Northsiders seem to think. 

Anyway, these thoughts occupy Sweet Pea’s mind as he watches Jughead join Andrews a few tables down at the White Wyrm. Tonight, they’re celebrating FP’s release from jail and his retirement from his leading role among the Serpents. It’s supposed to be a party but for some fucking reason, both Baby Jones and the Redheaded Dick look like someone kicked their puppy. Why the Serpents would even _allow_ the likes of Andrews on their turf - especially on a night that should be members only - is beyond him. 

But, of course, it all comes back to Jughead. 

To think that Sweet Pea had offered a hand to that broody idiot when he’d transferred to Southside High. Being FP’s son, he has a legacy they can’t ignore. But of course Jones had turned them down. Evidently, the dickhead is half a Northsider himself so he couldn’t possibly associate with their “kind,” right? Until he actually _needed_ them, of course. 

Jughead’s flip-flopping interest in the Serpents had left (and still leaves) a bad taste in Sweet Pea’s mouth. He takes a swig of his beer, glaring. Fangs elbows him in the stomach.

“Chill the hell out, Pea. You’ll literally burn holes in his jacket.” 

Sweet Pea just rolls his eyes. 

“Come on, man. Get over it. He’s one of us.”

Sweet Pea scoffs. “Is he, really?”

“I would have thought you’d remember him running the gauntlet. I know that was your favourite part of his initiation.” 

Sweet Pea smirks, looking down at his fellow Serpent. 

“What can I say? If I go too long without throwing punches, my joints start itching. And, well, I can’t say crushing my brass knuckles in his soft, snotty face wasn’t satisfying.” He pauses. “I say we should have a re-do. Just in case the lesson didn’t stick.” He cracks his knuckles for good measure.

Fangs shakes his head but his gaze is quickly drawn toward the bar’s entrance. He lets out an appreciative whistle.

“Woah! Who’s the MILF?” 

Sweet Pea turns around to follow Fangs’s line of sight. A couple of blondes are making a notable entrance. First comes a forty-something biker fox to whom, he assumes, Fangs is referring. The woman is strutting across the Wyrm like she owns it, which Sweet Pea finds odd because he’s pretty damn sure he’s never seen her around here before. 

Then, like the morning sun coming up over the horizon (Sweet Pea cannot for the life of him figure out where that poetic shit is coming from), he sees the second, younger blonde emerge from the first’s shadow. Her, he knows. She’s Betty Cooper, Jones’s girl, in all her sweet pastel glory. How the fuck a scrawny Poe-wannabe like him scored a babe like her, Sweet Pea can only guess. What is she doing with him? Are her dating options on the Northside that abysmal? Because, Northsider or not, Betty Cooper is a knockout. 

He remembers the first time he’d met her. Well... they haven’t properly met because Jones is always so goddamn careful not to mix his Northside and Southside affiliations. Anyways. The first time he’d _seen her_ was at the auto shop. She was souping up a car for their race against the Ghoulies. When Jones had told them Betty would be working on the car, Sweet Pea hadn’t been impressed (to be fair, he generally wasn’t too impressed with anything Jughead had to say). Pretty Blondie with her angelic features and cute overalls was supposed to get them to the finish line? He hadn’t trusted it so he’d looked over the engine afterwards. _Then_ , he’d been impressed. Of course, that also brings back the memories of the race. In her tight high-waisted jeans, white camisole and red bandana, she’d given him distinct 50’s pinup vibes.

“Wait,” he hears Fangs say, effectively tearing him from his daydream. “That’s Betty’s mom? That’s Alice Cooper?”

Sweet Pea turns to his friend and then back to the older blonde. Yep, now he can see the resemblance despite the dramatic difference in outfits. Same shade of blonde hair, same sharp cheekbones, same pouty mouth, same juicy tits. 

Fangs goes on, “Isn’t she the one who likes to demonize the Southside in general and the Serpents in particular? What is she doing here?”

Before Sweet Pea can even think of a reply, Mama Cooper is heading for the bar, pointing a commanding finger at the bartender.

“Hog Eye! Get me…”

Smiling complicitly, the bearded Serpent chips in, “Tequila. Straight up.” 

“Hold the worm!” They finish together, laughing. 

Fangs gives him a _What the fuck?_ look and makes his way to the bar to sit next to the revealingly-dressed Cooper matriarch. Sweet Pea’s gaze goes back to Miss Cute and Preppy, only to catch her and Jones Jr making heart eyes at each other, Betty’s hands delicately making their way under Jughead’s jacket. Sweet Pea immediately averts his eyes. He needs to see Jones’s mating habits as much as he needs his balls dipped in acid. He opts instead to follow Fangs and claim the seat next to him at the bar. His friend is staring at Hog Eye, jaw slack but smiling, while the older Serpent regales him with one of his stories.

“... and that’s why there are no doors on stalls in the men’s bathroom. That’s also when they started calling this one here The Hellion,” he finished pointing Alice with his thumb.

Sweet Pea’s brain starts making connections with some of the stories the Wyrm’s old-timers had entertained them with over the years. He grins.

“No fucking way! You’re Alice Smith? You’re the one who burned down the…”

“Yep!”

He chuckles. “Never thought I’d say this to Alice Cooper but… it’s kind of an honour to meet you.”

In lieu of a reply, she pushes two shots in their direction. 

“Bottoms up, pups! I wanna see what the next generation of Serpents is made of.”

And that’s how Alice fucking Cooper starts lining up shot after shot in front of them. After the fifth, Sweet Pea taps out. He plans to ride home later after all. Fangs ain’t so smart. After his tenth shot, he’s visibly woozy and, after his twelfth, he starts to hit on Alice, both to her great amusement and Hog Eye’s consternation. 

“Mrs… Mrs. Cooper, I need… I need to tell you something. You’re hot! Like…” Fangs waves his hand vaguely at her body. “If you weren’t married, I’d totally wanna do you,” he slurs. 

That’s Sweet Pea’s cue to save his friend from further embarrassment. 

“Ok, Fogarty. Time to move on,” he says nodding his goodbye to Alice and Hog Eye, and grabbing Fangs by the jacket. “How about we go see if we can tick off Toni?” 

He half-supports half-drags Fangs to the other side of the bar where their friend is bartending. Sweet Pea sits Fangs on top of a stool waiting until he’s sure he won’t fall off before letting him go. Toni comes up to them grinning.

“How can he be _this_ wasted already?” 

Sweet Pea grins back and gives her a quick recount of their singular interaction with The Register’s star reporter. By the end of his retelling, Toni is roaring with laughter.

“You fucking morons! That’s like the first rule FP ever gave us when we started hanging around the Wyrm: _never_ , under _any_ circumstances, accept a drinking challenge from an old Serpent.”

“ _Ex_ -Serpent,” he interjects in their defence. “How was I supposed to know that this particular Northsider, the white picket fence owner and mother to perfect, cardigan-wearing Betty motherfucking Cooper, could drink us all under the table?”

“Guys, guys, guys!” Fangs interrupts, swaying dangerously on his seat. He waits until they are looking at him before adding “I love you, guys. I love you all so much!” And he lays his head on the counter (something Sweet Pea, even while shit-faced, wouldn’t do because it’s fucking gross) before passing out. 

Sweet Pea barks out a laugh and doesn’t stop until Toni throws him a glance that clearly means _Don’t just stand there, you dumbass!_ He makes a point of rolling his eyes at her and sighs.

“Fine!” he groans, hoisting Fangs on his shoulder. He’d really like to rough his friend up a little as payback for the inconvenience but he also really doesn’t want puke all over him. 

He takes Fangs over to the pool table area, next to which there are a few couches. His looming presence and pointed glare are enough for people to clear out (because being tall, dark and intimidating is kinda his thing). He unceremoniously dumps his haul. 

Fangs moans a little when he hits the threadbare upholstery but settles down quickly. Sweet Pea shakes his head incredulously when his friend starts to snore. 

“Yo, Sweets!” Sweet Pea turns to find Lemmy hailing him. “You gonna babysit Fogarty all night or are you up for embarrassing yourself with your crap pool skills?” 

Sweet Pea scoffs at the obvious taunt. “You’re on, old man!”

He plays with some of the older Serpents for a while, feeling right at home. After all, most of these people helped raise him in some way. 

His dad died when he was eleven and his mom went off the deep end shortly after. She never cared where he was or what he was doing. She forgot to feed him half the time. Weeks after his father’s death, she started drinking (and not the social kind), and soon that wasn’t enough to numb the pain, so she started using.

It took a few months before someone noticed how bad things were. The first to pick up on it had been Fangs (Now, Sweet Pea looks over at that fucker still drunkenly snoozing despite all the noise). When little Fogarty finally brought it up to his old man, that had been it. A bunch of intimidating people in leather jackets had started showing up at his place. Sometimes with clothes, sometimes with food and sometimes just to check up on him and his mom. They tried to help his mom but she just kept getting in deeper. A little over a year ago, she went into rehab for the third time. She never came back. 

People often talked about how some families you get through blood and others you choose. To Sweet Pea, it had felt more like _he_ had been chosen. The Serpents had thought this skinny sniveling eleven-year-old was worth the time of day. And that had felt good. Without this gang of hardened bikers, he would never have known what it means to be embraced, to truly belong. As a result, there is very little Sweet Pea wouldn’t do for the Serpents. So maybe he doesn’t have parents anymore, and his substitute aunts and uncles may be colourful as fuck but they’re loyal and dangerous. Not a bad trade-off.

Sweet Pea looks up from the game when he hears the music fading and karaoke being fired up. 

_Who the fuck brings a karaoke machine at a biker’s bar? Karaoke. At the Whyte Wyrm. For fuck sake._

Still, he finds himself a wall he can lean against to get a good view of the stage. Betty is setting up the mics and waving… of course... she’s waving over Andrews and that Lodge heiress. 

They shouldn’t even be here. 

Sweet Pea doesn’t care that Jughead is new; he should know better than to bring them to the Wyrm tonight. FP stepping down as their King is not an ice cream cake and wishing-well card event. This is a night for the Serpents and these Northsiders have no fucking idea what being a Serpent means. Because they’re friends with Jones they think they’re entitled to just waltz into their den. Neither of them even made a move to talk to any of the Wyrm’s patrons. It pisses him off. 

Now, it’s not enough that they walk around the Wyrm like a couple of wealthy tourists looking at some foreign cultural exhibit, they also have to take over the entertainment? He didn’t exactly intend to sing himself, but... their very existence just feels especially irritating tonight… Like a bad fucking rash.

And then they start singing and Sweet Pea actually wishes he could break out in a fucking rash instead of having to listen to this shit.

Not that he’s an expert or anything, but he can’t help but think this is the most awkward bout of karaoke he’s even witnessed. Well, first, being the opening act, why would they even choose _that_ song? The theme of _Donnie Darko_ , a movie about Doomsday and insanity… Really?! He supposes, if the objective is to eliminate the Southsiders by driving them all to slit open their wrists, then it’s a good fucking choice. Second, they can barely look at each other and, when they do, Sweet Pea can feel the tension (and not the let’s-fuck-in-the-storeroom kind) all the way to where he’s standing. There’s obviously some drama he doesn’t know about (and doesn’t want to know about). 

He hopes they break into an all-out smackdown. That would make up for the piss-poor musical selection and performance, not to mention it would befit the location infinitely better than fucking karaoke. 

Suddenly, Lodge is rushing off the stage with Andrews on her heels, and Sweet Pea is booing them alongside the rest of the Wyrm’s patrons.

 _If you don’t have your shit together, maybe, I don’t know, don’t go up on a stage in front of a biker gang._ Sweet Pea thinks dismissively.

Then, Betty goes up to the mic and Sweet Pea guesses she’ll call for whoever wants to go next, but instead, she picks up the song.

 _Yeah,_ he thinks, _that’s just like do-gooder Betty to clean up her friends’..._

Sweet Pea can feel his jaw slacken but can’t muster the will to care too much while Betty Cooper is tantalizingly taking off her sweet baby blue blouse...

_What the…_

… followed by her cute pink skirt...

_What is she…_

… which reveals the most erotic set of black lingerie he’s ever seen.

_Holly fuck!_

Unable (and unwilling) to look away, he can barely hear the music over the drumming in his chest. That is, until she starts to _move_ and his heart just stops altogether. 

_Shit_. 

It’s like a switch just flipped in his brain and he’s seeing her for the first time. Gone is the too sweet, too cute, rhinestoned, sweater-wearing Northsider. 

Her dainty hands are flirting with her pale flawless skin, caressing her breasts and her neck, and combing through her hair. 

In Sweet Pea’s filthy, hormone-saturated mind, it’s his much bigger hands cruising across her dips and curves. He absentmindedly wipes his sweating palms on his thighs. And now he knows that contrary to his previous assessment (and popular belief), his heart does in fact still function. Case in point, he can unquestionably feel his pulse in his dick which is painfully beating against his fly.

Even Betty’s face, which is usually so bright and sweet, seems transformed. Her lips are ever so slightly parted and, boy, doesn’t that bring about a whole set of fantasies. That perfect, perfect, fucking mouth. He wants to bruise it with his own: lick it and bite it. He wants it tight around his cock. He wants it crying out his name in the throes of ecstasy. Her eyes are hooded and sultry, and he wishes she were looking at him. 

And that’s when he gives himself a mental slap. 

She's not looking at him because she’s looking at that dickhead Jones. 

She’s looking at Jones because she’s Jones’s girl. 

That realization breeds another (and Sweet Pea feels like an idiot for not realizing this sooner but, to be fair, his brain is running on empty because his blood is otherwise occupied at the moment): precious little Northsider Betty Cooper is doing the Serpent’s dance. She’s announcing loud and clear, at least to the people gathered today, that she wants to belong here. With them.

Realistically, he knows she’s doing it for Jones. 

She probably never would have gone anywhere close to the Serpents if it weren’t for Jughead. Still, she’s basically swearing that she’ll stand by the Serpents, that her loyalty now lies with them. Sweet Pea gets the feeling that Betty Cooper isn't the kind of girl to pledge herself to anything lightly. That in itself, speaks volumes of her character and renders her present display of commitment all the more astounding. He’s beginning to realize that he doesn’t know shit about the real Betty Cooper. For someone like her to climb up on a stage in front of a crowd of gang members, most of them strangers, and take her clothes off (because that’s the screwed-up way women are inducted in said gang), well, it takes the kinda guts Sweet Pea can only respect. 

That, however, is the last of Sweet Pea’s even remotely sophisticated thoughts.

Betty moves to the stripper pole and the phallic symbolism she’s currently grabbing and caressing certainly isn’t lost on him. 

_Fucking hell. What I wouldn’t give to have her hands around_ my _pole..._

He is reminded of his earlier fellatio fantasy except now her hands and mouth are teaming up. 

_Shit. Is it just me or are my pants getting tighter?_

Her slim frame arches gracefully, neck stretched. Man. He’d run the gauntlet again to be in that pole's place. His mouth waters at the thought of licking his way up that decolletage, from tits to ear. 

_Yep. Definitely tighter._

Now, she’s slowly slithering down, hands above her head. Sweet Pea’s imagination instantly provides him with a picture of himself holding Betty’s wrists above her head while he sinks deep inside her. He imagines her moaning and begging him to let her touch him. He pictures her sweating for straining against his grip. He’d lick the salty moisture off her skin until she begs some more. He wouldn’t let her wait too long, though. No, he doesn’t think he could. Captivated as he is with her body’s slightest movement, he’d probably fall over himself trying to fulfill her every desire.

He bites his lip hard to keep a moan in (that would be too goddamn embarrassing), but he’s just about ready to come in his jeans

 _She’s a fucking goddess._

And he, a mere mortal, must worship her. 

In this moment, Sweet Pea is keenly aware that, if she was so inclined, Betty Cooper could own him. And he would gladly let her.

The song comes to an end, the room gets quiet, and despite his initial misgivings about the choice of music, Sweet Pea now finds himself hoping it would have gone on a while longer (or forever). 

The bar is as silent as he’s ever heard it. Sweet Pea is still processing what just happened so he figures he might not be the only one. But then he realizes that Jones hasn’t moved. Still isn’t moving in fact, and the crowd is taking its cue from him because, well, she’s _his_ girlfriend. 

_Seriously, what the everliving fuck is this asshole’s problem?_

If she were _his_ , if she’d done this for _him_ … He’d have picked her up from that stage and they already be halfway to the nearest private(ish) corner he could find so he could fuck her senseless against the first sturdy (enough) surface available.

His gaze traces back to the stage where FP is doing what his son should be. He’s draping his jacket around her scantily clad frame (seeing her in nothing but lingerie and a Serpents’ jacket is doing _things_ to Sweet Pea’s body and mind he doesn’t want to dissect just yet) and inviting the crowd to cheer her performance. Sweet Pea joins in enthusiastically. What she’d just done is worth that much, at the very least.

On stage, FP is making a speech with the kind of verve he only acquires when he’s orating about the Serpents. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Alice trying to gather her daughter, probably to get her to leave. From her perspective, Sweet Pea supposes this night probably wasn’t her daughter’s brightest moment. However, Betty clearly isn’t ready to go home and her mother walks away, visibly shaken. 

When FP announces that he is not stepping down as their King, all of the Serpents greet this news with a chorus of whoops, cheers and howls. 

That successfully takes Sweet Pea’s mind out of its lustful haze. 

The last year has been hard on them and they’re still not out of trouble. The thought of the Serpents being left to the likes of Tall Boy or, God forbid, FP’s weak ass son, is goddamn terrifying. For all his faults (and he has many) FP is a good leader. Unlike Tall Boy, he knows their limits, and unlike his son, he knows when high-handed idealism just isn’t worth the backlash. 

Sweet Pea is brought back to reality when he suddenly finds himself jerking forward from a robust clap to the back. He wheels around only to find Lemmy’s weathered face. The older man is beaming.

“I fucking knew FP wouldn’t split! The Serpents are in his blood, we are in his goddamn DNA!”

Sweet Pea smirks. “A Serpent never sheds its skin.”

“A Serpent never sheds its skin,” Lemmy echoes, nodding.

Grinning madly, Sweet Pea gathers around FP with the rest of the Serpents. 

Their leader is talking to his son, who’s still sulking for some fucking reason, but Sweet Pea doesn’t care. FP is here to stay and that’s cause for some real celebration. 

The Serpents take it to the bar where everyone wants to toast the Serpent King. 

Sweet Pea can already see how this night is going to unfold: first, there will be celebratory rounds (he can hear Hog Eye telling Toni to fetch four, no, five bottles of JD’s from the storeroom), which will descend into competitive shots, finishing in drunken brawls. Naturally, there will be betting on both the drinking and the fighting, which Lemmy usually oversees as their bookmaker (the unofficial position having fallen to him after his old lady threatened bodily harm on anyone, FP included, who’d dare let Lemmy drink... and that woman is too damn fearsome to be challenged). 

Sweet Pea plans to ride home so he doesn’t take part in the drinking, but he does enjoy the gang’s antics. 

After checking up on Fangs (who’s gonna be so annoyed when Sweet Pea tells him about the night he’s missed) and making sure someone will take him home, Sweet Pea decides to take a breather outside. On his way to the back door, he sees Alice looking unfocused and taking large gulps from a tumbler. She seems well on her way to becoming totally wrecked and not in a celebratory way. 

Almost involuntarily, his eyes make a quick sweep of the Wyrm looking for Betty, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Neither is Jones Jr. 

Maybe, he got his head out of his ass and finally decided to treat his girlfriend right. 

Maybe, she got smart and decided to ditch his weak, whiny ass.

But more likely, he’s ravishing her up against a wall somewhere and she’s moaning, begging for fucking Jones, and the whole thing makes Sweet Pea wish he were in that moron’s place. 

_Shit_. _Snap the fuck out of this fairyland, Sweet Pea!_

This pining isn’t healthy for him. He knows that restless thrumming in his chest makes him want to punch something; he’s found something he wants but can’t have. 

If she were anybody else, he’d pursue her. Relentlessly. He’s definitely not above chasing a girl with a boyfriend (Sweet Pea is of the opinion that if a guy can’t hold on to his girlfriend, well, she isn't really his, is she?). 

But she’s not just anybody, she’s that moody wimp’s girl. 

He might viscerally dislike the prick but he still wouldn’t go for another Serpent’s girl. 

He resolves that he desperately needs to get her out of his head. 

However, almost of their own accord, his eyes find their way to the now deserted stage and his imagination goes into overdrive, supplying him with scenarios Jones and Betty might be re-enacting. What would Sweet Pea have done if she were his girl? 

The closest secluded location would be the storeroom. 

Would Jones sit her up on a shelf so he could eat her out? Is she riding his face, begging to come? Sweet Pea salivates at the thought.

_I bet she tastes fucking amazing._

Is he fucking her against the door with her beautiful legs circling his waist? Sweet Pea imagines having her graceful limbs wrapped around him, holding onto him while he thrusts into her hot, wet core. Would she like it nice and slow? Or would she be panting and moaning for him to take her harder? Faster?

And just like that, he is getting hard, fast.

 _Fuck, I need some fresh air_. 

Sweet Pea takes the hallway toward the back and pushes through the service door to find himself alone behind the Wyrm. He can still hear the music, the rowdy partiers as well as some motorcycles, but the noise is muted and it feels strangely peaceful out here. He’s not exactly proud to admit (even to himself) that he slowed down and lingered in front of the storeroom but, thankfully, he couldn’t hear any smutty sounds from within. So they weren’t in there. 

Sweet Pea feels conflicted. On one hand, he’s relieved; Jones in any sort of sexual context is something he’d rather spend his whole life not knowing about. On the other hand, he’s seriously annoyed on Betty’s behalf; after her otherworldly show of fealty to the Serpents and her boyfriend, she certainly deserves some face-riding time… for like an hour or something.

_It’s just that I want it to be my face so fucking bad!_

Sweet Pea paces back and forth, his body buzzing with energy. He wishes he had his bat so he could trash something.

Deprived of any outlet, his mind just keeps on torturing him. 

Being FP’s son, maybe Jones took Betty to the office on the first floor. Would it be too shameful to fuck on your dad’s desk? Sweet Pea doesn’t think he’d give a shit but Jones is just the kind tortured weakling who’d get in his own way. The office certainly would be nice and private. Then at least, they wouldn’t have to worry about being overheard. Sweet Pea wonders what kind of noises Betty makes. Sweet little moans and purrs?

_I bet I could make her scream._

_Shit. Jesus. Fuck._

_I wish I had someone to punch to a bloody pulp._

That draws him back to Jones (who’d make a good fucking punching bag) which circles back to Betty in that office.

Sweet Pea pictures himself behind FP’s desk, sitting in the office chair, with Betty riding his cock. He’s sucking on her tits while she’s rocking her hips against his. Or maybe he would have bent her over the desk. She’d be gasping every time he pounded into her. He can practically hear her. _“Oh, Sweets! You’re the best I’ve ever had! So much better, so much bigger than Jughead!”_

Jones's stupid fucking face surfaces in his mind again.

_Fuckwit. What I wouldn't give to pound my fist into that wuss’s jaw._

Sweet Pea’s mind swings back to Betty...

… who may or may not be getting pounded against a wall or a door or a desk right now.

Sweet Pea growls in frustration. He’s too damn horny to think clearly. 

He replays her Serpent dance. He can see it as if she was right in front of him. How her hands travelled across her breasts, neck and through her hair. How she played that pole, her body arching, leaning, sliding.

His lizard brain takes completely over as he rests his forehead on his leather-covered forearm and leans against the brick wall, his free hand making quick work of his belt and zipper. He lets out a sigh of relief once his hard length is freed from its denim prison. 

_So this is the level of pathetic we’re at?_ One side of his brain thinks wryly. 

But the other side has already taken out his cock and started stroking. Sweet Pea’s mind is full of Betty in her insanely hot black lingerie as he pumps his fist urgently.

Of course, his filthy brain isn’t happy just reminiscing what is already a goddamn erotic masterpiece. No. It is now providing him with original masturbatory material. 

Sweet Pea pictures Betty back up on that stage, except he’s sitting in the front row and the Wyrm is empty save for the two of them. She is leaning against the pole and slowly caressing herself. One hand is fondling her breasts, pulling at her neckline to spill them out, while the other is sneaking into her lacy panties. He imagines her eyes closed, her breath catching as she pleasures herself. She’s panting and biting her lower lip. Then, she opens her eyes and she looks straight at him with lust painted on her angelic face.

Betty gets off the stage and walks up to where he’s sitting. In a breathy voice, she says “ _I need you._ ” So he removes her racy lingerie, hikes her up on a table and kneels between her thighs. She’s already dripping as he drinks her up. She’s moaning and rubbing her pussy against his mouth. She’s begging him to make her come, and when she goes over the edge, she does it screaming “ _Oh my god! Yes! Sweet Pea!!_ ”

“F-fuck!” he stutters, stroking his cock violently while he comes on the pavement. 

He stays still, panting into the cool night air. It takes him a minute before he feels up to putting himself back in his pants. After that’s done, he takes a moment to breathe deeply. 

_Shit_. 

That didn’t do anything to get sexy Betty Cooper out of his system, but at least his body doesn’t feel completely crazed anymore. 

He looks at the door, deliberating. 

He doesn’t really want to go back inside, suddenly feeling deadly sober. Maybe he could take his bike to Sweetwater or the quarry. Or just ride around for a while before going home. 

_And then maybe you can rub out another one dreaming about a girl you have no chances in hell of getting your hands on,_ he scolds himself.

Making his way around the side of the building, he sends a text to Fangs, asking him to let him know when he rejoins the land of the living. He’s putting his phone back in his pocket, walking towards his motorcycle when he spots none other than the object of his most recent fantasy herself. 

Betty is standing there, all soft and shining, like a faery creature half-shrouded in darkness. 

_Really, though, where_ is _that poetic shit coming from?!_

She’s alone. He looks around the parking lot but can’t see Jones, Andrews or Lodge anywhere. She seems a little lost and Sweet Pea evaluates his options. 

He could just hop on his bike and leave. It’s not like they’re friends or anything. But, A, she’s actually standing right next to his bike which would make leaving her there awkward and B, although he doesn’t give two shits about social expectations, he’s also not that big of an asshole (although he’ll willingly admit he often works hard to be perceived as one). 

He could also go back inside and drag Jones back from whatever he’s doing so he can deal with his girlfriend. But he isn't sure where Jones is and chasing him around isn’t top on his list of most appealing things to do (it would actually rate just under getting a rectal exam from Edward Scissorhands).

However, walking up to this particular blonde easily makes the top of that list in the last hour or so. 

_Well, I guess that settles that._

Decision made, Sweet Pea steps in her direction, stopping a few feet from her. She looks up at him as he gets closer and wraps her arms tightly around herself, as if protecting herself from him. It’s obvious he’s making her nervous. Not that he blames her; meeting some strange Southside gang members at night in a quasi-deserted parking lot is probably the kind of thing Northside parents warn their kids against. He relaxes his default fuck-off scowl into a smile, hoping it will put her at ease. He has a lot of practice intimidating people or riling them up. Making people comfortable? Not so much. 

“Hey. You lost?” He quips lightly.

She lets out a sharp bitter sigh and mutters, “God, yes,” under her breath. Then she seems to shake herself. “I’m just trying to decide how best to get back home. I’ll probably just call a cab.” 

She serves him a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. He can’t see clearly in the dim light but her eyes look unusually shiny to him. Has she been crying? 

_Where the fuck are Andrews and Lodge?_

“Where are your friends?” It suddenly dawns on him how wrong it is for her to be standing alone in the dark. 

“Gone,” she answers succinctly, jaw jutting out as if daring him to tell her she shouldn’t be standing here.

_Hot little Northsider has a backbone!_

Sweet Pea scoffs. “Too caught up in their own drama?” 

She cocks an eyebrow and cracks a real smile at him. And that one smile gives him the overwhelming urge to grin back like a fool. How damn pathetic is he? He takes a step closer.

“You picked up on that, huh?” She says. 

“Hard not to.” He pauses. “I’m Sweet Pea, by the way.” He extends his hand.

She takes it and her hand feels tiny in his. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Betty.” 

“I know.” When she just looks at him, he continues. “I’ve seen you around. You’ve helped the Serpents a few times. You’ve got mad mechanic skills. I’d let you tinker with my bike any time.” 

_I’d let you tinker with anything of mine you want,_ he finishes in his mind. _Shit_. 

They fall silent for a few heartbeats. A thought crosses his mind that has him letting out a short laugh.

“I guess your mom driving you home is also out.”

She frowns. “I thought my mom had left already.” 

He laughs again. “Nope. She is still very much in there, getting hammered.” Betty's eyes widen. “You know, she got Fangs and I to do shots with her. I was smart enough to get out early but... Fangs? Yeah, he’s gonna feel it tomorrow. I wish I got him professing his undying lust for your mom on tape, though. That’s a missed blackmail opportunity I will forever regret.”

Betty barks out a loud, surprised laugh before putting a hand to her mouth to stifle it without success. And there it is, that fuzzy feeling in his stomach again. Yeah, this is bad, bad, _bad_.

He needs to get out of here now before he does something stupid or embarrassing. Or both.

“So,” he starts. “Where’s Jones? Can’t he give you a ride home?” 

As soon as the words get out of his mouth, Sweet Pea can see all the mirth bleed out of her face. She swallows hard and looks away. 

“I don’t… I’d rather… I don’t think that would be a good idea.” She still can’t look at him. 

Sweet Pea just stares at her. He can’t quite believe what his brain is telling him. Jones can’t possibly have broken up with _her_. Not tonight. Not after she made that very public commitment statement to _him_ and to the Serpents. How could that goddamn shithead spit in her face like that? Did he even _look_ at her up there? Did he not recognize the gesture of pure devotion that was performed right before him?

_Jesus Christ! And here I thought I couldn’t possibly think any less of that fuckwad._

“What a fucking asshole!” He spits angrily.

His outburst makes her look at him again wide-eyed, and he can make out the tears she’s fighting not to let out. What should he say? _Sorry_ is just too fucking inadequate. 

“Want me to cave his teeth in?” He offers and he realizes he _really_ wants to hack that fucker.

She gapes and lets out a shocked laugh (Sweet Pea figures it’s better than tears). 

“That… that won’t be necessary.”

He nods. “Probably just as well. That would get me in trouble with the boss-man.” 

It’s strange to have her full attention. Sweet Pea wonders what she’s making of him. 

“I was about to leave. I can give you a ride home,” he offers. She opens her mouth and he knows what she’s about to say. “I really don’t mind.” 

She’s searching his face as if looking for a sign of deceit. He shakes his head, walking to his bike. He kicks the stand, throws a leg over the seat, grabs a helmet and holds it out to her. 

“Hop on, Cupcake!” He teases, angling his head towards the seat behind him.

She rolls her eyes but the upward tug at the corners of her mouth belies her annoyance. As she’s putting on the helmet, Sweet Pea registers her bare limbs and the chilled night air. He shrugs off his leather. 

“Come here. Turn around,” he tells her softly.

She hesitates for only a second before she complies. Sweet Pea helps her fit into his jacket, sliding it up her bare arms. She’s drowning it and he needs to roll up the sleeves but he still thinks she looks perfect.

Loaning her his gear feels intimate because… it is. He has earned that jacket through blood, bones and loyalty. To have her wrapped in his leather, his scent, his body heat… 

There’s a strange feeling of possessiveness (one he has no fucking right to) rising inside of him. 

As soon as she’s properly seated behind him, he takes off. She’s pressed flush against his back, arms tight around his torso and her spectacular bare legs have a snug hold on his hips. In other words, he’s in goddamn heaven. He’s thankful for the cold wind racing over him, cooling his overheated skin. 

A few minutes later, they leave the boarded windows and chipped facades of the Southside for the well-kept lawns and brightly lit streets of the Northside. Too soon, he’s parking in front of her house on Elm. 

Sweet Pea looks up at the pristine family house and wonders what it has been like to grow up in a place like this. Must be nice. 

Behind him, Betty hasn’t moved. 

“I didn’t tell you where I lived,” she says flatly.

He turns his head so he can smirk at her. 

“Well, I knew you lived next to Andrews’ and… remember the rumble? Serpents vs Bulldogs?” He lets her make the connection.

“Oh. Right.” She offers a contrite smile and isn’t it the cutest thing Sweet Pea has ever seen?

She still isn’t moving. 

He’s watching her closely when he asks, “Would you like to go somewhere else?” 

Sweet Pea sees the tension leave her body. She looks relieved. She probably doesn’t want to be trapped alone with her thoughts tonight. Her dance with the unwelcome outcome, her shithead boyfriend, her disappearing friends, her drunk mother… it doesn’t matter what she wants to escape, Sweet Pea will happily be her distraction.

“Please,” she breathes out.

Sweet Pea is glad she can’t see what _that_ word in _that_ breathy voice does to him. 

Without a word, he rides back down the street and towards the Southside. He takes the long way, though. He suspects the ride will do both of them good. Feeling her secure against his back he speeds up a little and takes a few tight curves. She tightens her hold on him but he can hear her laughing and he’s grinning like a lunatic in response. She’s a gearhead. He figures there must be at least a little love for speed hidden in there. 

He’d like nothing more than to just keep riding with this gorgeous creature at his back, but the air is getting cold and damp. At this time of night, the options are rather limited. He could take her to Pop’s but he’s not sure she’s up for something so public. Eventually, he takes them to his home in Sunnyside, all the while arguing with himself about how dumb a decision that is.

_For fuck sake, Sweet Pea! The poor girl just put herself out there, made herself vulnerable, only to be dumped moments later. Getting her alone at your place tonight when you know you’ve got a hard-on for her? It’s such a scumbag move!_

_Fuck! I’m not gonna move on her when she’s still raw. I’m not that sleazy! We’re just gonna hang out._

_You’re just gonna eye-fuck her the whole time,_ his mind tells him, snidely.

_Yeah, well, I would have done that at Pop’s too, so what difference does it make?_

The debate still rages on as he pulls in in front of his trailer. He turns off the ignition and helps her down. Facing away from him, she takes off the helmet and fluffs her hair. Looking at her, Sweet Pea bites down hard on his lip. Over the course of the ride, her skirt has ridden up her thighs and all but disappeared under his jacket. All he sees is wavy blonde hair cascading over his Serpent patch and her killer legs peeking out. He’s about 90% sure the whole trailer park population can hear him swallow. 

When she tugs at the hem to put the skirt back in place, he wants to weep.

 _Ok. So maybe I am a bit of a sleaze_.

Sweet Pea gets off the bike and sits down on his front steps. He just stares at Betty while she looks around, taking deep breaths. After a minute, she turns back to him.

“We don’t risk waking up anyone?” She tilts her head towards the trailer.

“Nah. It’s just me.” When she just keeps looking at him expectantly, he explains. “Dead dad. Junkie mom went MIA.” 

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” she says and she looks sincere as she sits next to him.

He just shrugs. His life is what it is. He turns to her, liking how close they are. She smells nice. Sweet. Like sugar and vanilla.

“What about you? Anybody’s going to wonder where you are?”

“Yeah. I should probably…” she trails off taking her phone out and sending a few texts. She seems to hesitate for a second before turning her phone off altogether.

He raises a questioning eyebrow.

“I told my parents I was at the Pembrooke and gave a heads up to Veronica. She’ll cover for me if anything comes up, but I… it’s just, I know she’ll have a million questions, none of which I want to answer just yet, or she’ll want to talk about Archie and…” She sighs. “Is it super selfish of me not to want to hear about their issues right now?”

“You’re having a shit night. You’re allowed to be a little selfish. Nothing wrong with that. I’m basically selfish all the time,” he deadpans.

She rolls her eyes. 

“Oh yeah,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Going out of your way to ride around Riverdale to placate the mopey Northsider. So selfish of you!” 

Focusing on her face, Sweet Pea takes a moment to decide how to answer. No-holds-barred has always been his MO but it has also gotten him into shit-tons of trouble.

_Fuck it._

He shifts to lean against the railing so he can look at her properly. 

“You mean, getting some hot babe who’s just stripped down to sexy lingerie on the back of my bike and taking her to my place? Yep, selfish. Absolutely, 100% selfish.” He winks at her.

He chuckles wickedly at her shocked expression. She opens and closes her mouth a few times in quick succession. 

“Sweet Pea! You. Are. Outrageous!” She shakes her head, chiding but smiling.

The moment passes and he can feel his face becoming serious again. 

“Why did you do it?” When she doesn’t answer, he repeats, “Your Serpent dance. Why did you do it?”

She looks away and takes a long, deep breath. For at least a minute, she’s just looking away into the darkness. Or maybe she’s looking inward. Just as Sweet Pea starts thinking she won’t answer, she starts talking. But it's like she’s not even talking to him. Like she’s just figuring shit out as she speaks.

“I felt like he was putting me in a box.” They both know who ‘he’ is. “A beautiful box with ribbons and sparkles and rainbows. A box he could put on a shelf so it wouldn’t get dirty. He kept me away from parts of his life, even lied about it. But I think the real problem was that he didn’t really see me. Not all of me. Even after we’d talk about it, after I opened up about the darker side of me.” She breathes through her nose. “And he said that he understood and that he accepted all of it. Wanted all of it. But he just went on keeping me away from anything that _he_ thought was too rough for me.” 

She pauses. 

“So I started thinking that if I could join the Serpents, he would see that I’m not afraid or breakable, that I can take it. You know? Whatever comes our way. Then I thought about the Serpents themselves and two things particularly stuck with me. 

“The very first things I’ve learned about the Serpents, and that was back when I didn’t like you very much,” she gives him a crooked smile before she turns back ahead, “is that you are a community. After FP was arrested, the Serpents were there for Jughead. He wasn't even part of the gang, but he was FP’s son and that was enough. You take care of and stand by each other. 

“Second, after having met some of you, I was struck by how you all have such a strong sense of who you are. And that is probably what appealed to me the most. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always felt… splintered. And like not all of my pieces fit together. I needed... I _need_ to feel grounded and whole.” 

She takes a few breaths before she continues.

“And I also thought about my mom. She’s mostly miserable, you know. Tonight, in her biker chic outfit, flipping shots with gang members was the most alive and happy I’ve seen her… ever! I’ve learned a lot about her and her past recently. I’ve come to realize that she has suppressed and tried to erase a big part of who she is in order to become that squeaky clean shell she projects. And she’s trying to make sure I do the same but... But she’s so bitter. I don’t want that for myself. So if there’s some wild, dark place inside me, I think I owe it to myself not to let it die.”

Finally, she looks at him and there is something grim and angry in her gaze. 

“After my pathetic attempt at a striptease earlier…”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Sweet Pea mumbles.

The corner of her mouth tugs for a second but she carries on like he hasn’t spoken.

“... Jughead came to find me outside. I could see it clear as day. He was so _disappointed_ with me. And then, he made it all about himself. How he was dragging me down and putting me in danger. He was leaving me to protect me and yada yada yada. He wouldn’t even listen to anything I had to say. He just left me there. And, although I’m sad, I’m mostly just pissed off right now. I don’t know. I’ll probably be sadder later, but right now? Yeah. I’m angry that he could underestimate me like that. Did he think I made that decision without thinking, like some birdbrained love-sick little girl? I’m angry that he can’t see that, me going on that stage and doing… that it wasn’t all about him. That maybe, just maybe, I needed to do it for myself. And I’m angry that after all we’ve been through, when he looks at me, he still only sees pastel sweaters and pink lipgloss.”

Sweet Pea had known Betty must have thought it through before doing her dance. That’s just the kind of person she seems to be. When he’d asked her why she’d done it, he’d expected it to be about Jones and, in a way, it was. Jones had been the spark. 

Watching her so confident and fearless during her Serpent dance had assuredly caused a shift (the understatement of the fucking century) in the way he looks at her, but her fiery yet articulate response just now was completely reframing what he’d thought he’d known about her.

When looking at Betty, he too had mostly seen the cute outfits and shy smiles. She had been Jones’s, and his dislike of the prick had tainted every encounter he’d had with her. How interesting could that weakling’s Northsider girlfriend possibly be, right?

Now, it’s like the puzzle pieces are rearranging themselves to create a completely different picture.

Sweet Pea wants to tell her that he understands. He knows what it’s like to feel adrift and to want… no, _need_ something to hold on to. Something that helps you keep it together. He wants to tell her that they all have a bit of a dark side and there’s nothing wrong with embracing it. In his experience, your darkness is usually the very thing you need to stay alive. It may also be the very thing you need to _feel_ alive. He’s no orator though, so instead of talking, he stands and jumps down the steps. 

“Come here, Princess.” He gestures for Betty to come over. She looks skeptical but, when he emphatically gestures her over again, she joins him. “Alright. First, I want you to show me how you throw a punch.” 

“What?!”

“There’s nothing like throwing punches when you’re angry. Believe me, I wrote the fucking book on it. Come on. Show me.”

She stares at him for a few heartbeats. Visibly unsure, she still humours him. She gets into a fighting stance and punches the air. Sweet Pea nods approvingly. She has good instincts. He corrects her stance a little and grabs her fist to make sure her fingers are coiled properly. Then, he has her give a few more punches until he’s positive she won’t hurt herself... too badly. 

“Good, good. Now…” He moves until he’s facing her. “Punch me.”

She gapes at him. “You can’t be serious!”

“Didn’t you wanna do something wild?” he taunts her with a side smile. 

“You’re insane!”

“Hey, now! You should be honoured. You’re looking at someone who has elevated pissing people off to an art form. Do you know how many people would love to get a free shot at me? I could make a fortune selling tickets.”

She’s still looking at him like he’s deranged. “Are you sure?”

“Come on, Doll! Show me what you got!”

She sighs before taking her stance again.

Her first two shots to his stomach are laughable. He doesn’t hold back; he openly laughs at her.

“What the fuck was that supposed to be?” he mocks, still chuckling.

She clenches her jaw and frowns (he’s actually pretty damn sure he hears her growl too). She punches him in the stomach again and he can tell she’s at least trying now. 

“Is that all you got, Sweetheart? You say you have a dark side but all I see is pretty pink.” 

He sees something big and dark moving behind her eye. 

_Bingo!_ he thinks. 

He smirks at her. “Afraid you’ll break a nail? Need to take a break so you can powder your nose and shit? Maybe I should just take your Northside princess ass back to…”

This time, her fist connects with his face. It doesn’t land too powerfully due to her lack of training and their height difference, but it catches his cheekbone and the impact is significant enough that his head whips to the side. 

“Goddamn!” He beams at her. “Fuck yeah, Cooper!” 

Sweet Pea feels something large and light swell in his chest. With a start, he realizes that it’s pride. He’s so damn proud of her. As if she were his already. 

_Already?!_

He needs to take a metaphorical step back. He clears his throat.

“So. How did it feel?” he asks.

She raises a pointed eyebrow at him. “It hurts like hell!” she says, nursing her right hand.

“Come on,” he insists. “ _How did it feel?_ ”

A wicked smile slowly blooms over her angelic face. He thinks she’s adorable.

 _There’s something seriously wrong with me that I feel this turned on by someone who just punched me in the face,_ he muses.

“Ok. I have to be honest, it was incredible! It felt _so_ good and powerful!”

_Christ! I hope I get to hear you say those words while naked and sweaty._

God, he needs to stop. He looks down at her hand.

“Let’s ice those knuckles,” he proposes, in an effort to distract himself.

Sweet Pea lays a hand on the small of her back to guide her towards the steps (let's get real, it’s really just a shameless excuse to put his hands on her). He feels her shivering and he prays to any god who will listen that it isn’t caused by the cool night air. At the door, he reaches around her to unlock it. He knows he’s crowding her but he’s testing a theory. When he hears her inhaling sharply, he smirks smugly, happy she can’t see it. 

_I thought we were trying to cool it down?_

_Shut up._

They enter his trailer, toe their boots off and he tells her to take a seat wherever but she seems happy to roam around. He should probably invite her to take the jacket off, but she looks so fucking hot in it, he decides to indulge himself a little longer. 

She looks around, her bright green eyes alive with curiosity. He watches with amusement as she takes in every minute detail of his small living space. 

“Am I under investigation, detective Cooper?” He mocks while grabbing a bag of frozen peas from the freezer.

She shrugs unapologetically. 

“You can learn _a lot_ about someone from seeing where they live.” 

He walks up to her in the living room, where she’s looking at the very few pictures hung to the wall, and carefully takes her right hand in his left. Gently, Sweet Pea puts the bag on her red knuckles. 

“So,” he starts. “What did your snooping teach you about me?”

She scoffs. “That was hardly snooping! I didn’t have to break in. I didn’t even get to pick a lock!”

His eyes widen. “Is that… is that something you do?”

She shrugs, waves her left hand dismissively and answers “occasionally,” like she’s talking about having a goddamn tea party.

He just stares at her. “That’s kinda hot.” She blushes slightly and looks away. “Ok then. What did your definitely-not-snooping teach you about me, detective?” 

“Well, here’s what I found thus far. First, I now know where your dog tags are coming from.” She angles her head at a picture of his dad in uniform. “You look exactly like him, you know?”

“So I keep being told. What else?”

“I know your interest in motorcycles goes beyond riding fast and looking tough.”

“How did you figure that?”

“The magazines. Those are very technical.” 

He nods and then grins. “I do like to look tough, though.” 

“And you’re good at it,” she replies in a deadpan tone.

“Thanks. Anything else?”

“You’re a bit of an artist.” That surprises him a lot. “Your backpack. It’s open and I noticed all of your books are covered with sketches. Like, really, _really_ good sketches.” 

It’s his turn to blush at the compliment. He clears his throat nervously.

“At Southside High, all of our shit is second hand. Those could be someone else’s.”

“Are they?”

He pauses before answering, “No.” 

She nods, satisfied. “I also know that you don’t care about what might be generally considered appropriate or not.” He raises an eyebrow. “I mean, that was already the impression I had, but the dirty magazines casually laying around with the motorcycle stuff really drove that home.” 

Sweet Pea lets out a belly laugh while she smirks at him.

“Maybe I just don’t bring over too many girls.” 

“You don’t?” 

He shakes his head. 

“You brought me,” she states softly.

“So I did”

The silence falls for a moment and he absentmindedly caresses her wrist. It’s the softest thing he’s ever touched. Her sharp breath intake has him looking more intently at her face and he is suddenly hit with how close they are. Close enough that he can see every tiny freckle. Close enough that he can make out the small golden flecks in her green eyes. Close enough that he can _hear_ the wet noise she makes when she licks her lips. Close enough that all he’d have to do is lean over a little to kiss her. 

Of course, now that’s all he can think about.

_Stop looking at her mouth. Stop looking at her mouth. STOP LOOKING AT HER MOUTH!_

“What did you think when you saw me dance?” She asks softly. 

That surprises him enough that he’s able to unglue his gaze from her lips. He swallows hard.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that,” he warns hoarsely.

There’s suddenly something that feels strangely dangerous in her eye. 

“I asked, didn’t I?” She whispers. 

Her eyes drop to his lips, she licks hers again and it’s like someone hooked him up to a car battery. He can feel the jolt from his toes to the roots of his hair. 

Sweet Pea has never had an out of body experience but he suspects it must feel close to what’s happening to him right now. He has spent most of the night fantasizing about all sorts of depraved things he’d like to do to Betty Cooper (or her to him, he’s not picky), but now that she’s showing clear signs she’d welcome _some_ form of physical contact, he’s too fucking stunned to do anything about it. 

Thankfully for his poor male ego, it lasts only as long as it takes for Betty to yank at his shirt in a silent plea for him to help close the distance between them. 

Sweet Pea answers her call gleefully. 

Immediately, he lets go of her sore hand, the melting bag of peas falling on the carpet with a dull thud. He leans over to meet her halfway. 

Sweet Pea feels their breaths blend together and Betty’s delicate lips meet his. It’s like this one contact is the culmination of everything he’s been feeling all night. He laces his fingers through her soft locks so he can angle her head and deepen the kiss. 

She tastes so goddamn good! 

The kiss is long and slow and hungry. Sweet Pea brushes his tongue on her lips and Betty parts them to let him in. She slides her hands from his chest to his neck, pulling herself up on her toes. The feeling of her lithe body arched against his makes his head spin. His hand coasts down until it settles on the beguiling curve of her lower back. He anchors her more firmly to him and she moans in his mouth. Egged on by her response, he risks sliding a hand down to her ass, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her hands come back down to his chest and she pushes.

 _Shit_ , he thinks, certain that she’ll tell him to fuck right off.

But she just keeps pushing until he hits the couch and has no choice but to sit. He doesn’t have time to blink that Betty is climbing in his lap and crashing her lips to his. 

It sends his blood reeling. 

Sweet Pea undoes the jacket’s zipper and has to make a conscious effort not to yank it off her body in his haste to get closer to her skin. Then, his mouth leaves her lips to travel along her jawline, making a special pit stop below her ear, to lick and bite and suck. He’s rewarded with an encouraging purr. 

He feels drunk with the mix of her sugary scent and that of his leather. He’d never realized that a scent could be sexy but this combination is driving him wild. With his scent on her skin, he feels like he has claimed her, like she's his. Some foreign part of him hopes he’ll be smelling like her come morning.

Betty’s hands are weaved in his hair, letting him know she’s happy with what he’s doing. If that wasn’t clear enough, she also starts to grind against him. He clutches at her hips in an effort to get more of that delicious friction and goes back to devouring her mouth. 

He doesn’t know how long they keep at it. He doesn’t really give a shit. The feeling, the sight and the smell of her as she rocks in his lap… Sweet Pea thinks he will never tire of it. He’s nipping at her collarbone and caressing the side of her thighs, up to her ass where he can feel the lace of her underwear. He can’t help it; he grins against her skin. 

Betty leans back to look at him. “What is it?”

She’s panting, her cheeks are flushed, hair messy and lips red and swollen… she’s so goddamn beautiful, he can’t breathe. Then he remembers she’s waiting for a response. He grins again and slithers his hands further up her ass cheeks. 

“I just remembered what you’re hiding under your preppy Northsider outfit,” he answers, biting his lower lip.

When she doesn’t respond right away, he fears he has killed the mood. But then her hands start stroking his chest and he sees her eyes darken.

“You never answered my question earlier. What did you think of my dance?” She asks breathily.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. True to himself, he goes for the whole naked truth. Hands grasping her ass tighter, he starts peppering kisses along the length of her neck. 

“I thought… well, I kinda thought I was dreaming at first.” 

He brushes his lips along her collarbone. 

“This sexy as hell, black-lingerie-wearing siren couldn’t possibly be the perfect girl next door, Betty Cooper. But I got over that quick.” 

He gives her neck a small bite that has her catching her breath. 

_Nice_.

“I also thought, for like, a second, that maybe looking away was the right thing to do. You were another Serpent’s girlfriend, after all. But I think we’ve already established that I don’t really give a shit about what’s appropriate.”

He carefully takes a fistful of her hair and pulls gently to expose more of her neck. He can see her pulse jumping. He bites down again, harder. She whimpers. 

“But, frankly, even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t look away.” 

Betty is dragging her fingernails on his scalp and Sweet Pea has to close his eyes a moment before he can continue, his voice considerably more strained.

“Then, you were slithering around that pole and… just try to picture a string of the most _pornographic_ scenes you can imagine and it might come halfway close to what was going through my mind.” 

Sweet Pea brushes back her golden locks from her face so he can rub his nose along the shell of her ear. He smiles when Betty lets out a shaky breath.

“Mostly, I just wished you’d been looking at me while your body was undulating so beautifully. I wished I could have picked you off that stage, that it was my leather on your shoulders. I wished you were mine,” he finally whispers in her ear before claiming her mouth again. 

When they come up for air, they look into each other’s eyes. Her gaze holds a weight he’s starting to associate with good things happening for him. 

“I did end up wearing your jacket, didn’t I? So…” She swallows. “What if I were? For tonight. What if I were yours?”

Sweet Pea cups her head with both hands, stroking her jaw with his thumbs. He wants to make damn sure he’s reading her right. Her pupils are blown wide with arousal, but he can also see something else in there: a painfully raw need. 

“Are you sure you want this? You know you can back the fuck out anytime, right?” 

Sweet Pea is not sure where this goddamn chivalry is coming from and he’s certain he’ll get permanent brain damage from sheer unresolved lust if they stop now, but... He has learned long ago that the surest way to tell if you can trust someone is that they’ll show you where the emergency exits are. He wants her to trust him.

“For tonight,” she breathes out, nodding.

“For tonight,” he echos.

Their lips crash together like magnets and they go back to their hot and handsy make out, but it feels different now. He hadn’t realized she was holding back until she wasn’t. She sucks on his lower lip and sneaks one hand under his shirt and up his bare back, dragging her nails along the way. And the way Betty rocks her hips against his throbbing cock, it’s like she’s made it her personal mission to drive him raving mad with need. 

_I’m already there, babe._

Then, she’s sucking along his jaw and when she licks his neck tattoo Sweet Pea wants to purr in pure delight.

In seconds, he has her on her back and his fingers are digging into her thighs. Betty is writhing under him like she doesn’t have total control over her body and he is so there for her, wild and uninhibited. 

“So fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs against her mouth.

He settles himself firmly between her legs and grinds against her, making a panting mess of both of them. Her nimble fingers start to work on the buttons of his plaid shirt. She’s so focused on the task that her tongue darts out in concentration. It’s so ridiculously cute; Sweet Pea feels something soft and warm blossom in his chest. However, when she opens his flannel and rises up to meet his bare chest with her wet, open mouth, he swears that there won’t be anything soft about him ever again. 

He props himself up, letting her explore to her heart's content (he’ll sign up to be her test dummy anytime), his free hand caressing up and down her silky leg. The contrast between the softness of her touch and the violence of his reaction feels heady. He’s panting and clawing at the couch. Emboldened by her obvious power over him, her hand joins her mouth in her ministrations. His muscles flex under her fingertips as she traces his tattoos. Her hand lingers at his waistband and he's gonna lose his goddamn mind from wanting her to keep going. 

He _actually_ loses it when her mouth (must not forget her mouth) finds his nipple and she gives it a broad lick. His dick jumps and he shudders violently.

_Whoa! That’s new._

His reaction has her looking up at him with what can only be described as a shit-eating grin. 

“Liked that, did you?” 

Then, the little vixen bites on the tight peak. 

“Sh-shit!” He lets out. “That is it, doll!”

In one fluid movement, he’s sitting and has her straddling him again. He doesn’t give her time to regain her bearings before he palms her barely covered ass (her skirt having ridden up to her waist a while ago) and stands, forcing her to wrap her legs around his hips.

He walks them across the kitchen with her giggling in his neck and nibbling at his earlobe. She’s so distracting, he has to concentrate impossibly hard not to bump into walls and furniture. He miraculously gets to the bedroom without maiming either of them and lets her slide down his body and onto her feet. He’s about to get rid of his already undone flannel but stops in his tracks when she starts unbuttoning her blouse. 

She pops the buttons agonizingly slow, staring right at him. He’s instantly brought back to her dance at Wyrm when he’d wanted her to look his way so badly. 

Well, she is now. 

And from the soft smile she’s serving him, he can tell she knows what she’s doing and what he’s thinking. 

For a moment, as she’s discarding her rumpled skirt, he lets himself enjoy the fantasy. He lets himself imagine that she’s his girl, that she looked at him when she did her Serpent dance, and they rode here afterward because he’s so fucking proud of her (and so fucking horny) and they want to celebrate. 

He stares at Betty, all ivory skin and black lace in his spartan bedroom. She seems to glow against the dullness of the decor. It’s like she’s the realest thing in his room. 

“I jerked off thinking about you wearing that earlier,” he admits, trying to detach his gaze from her cleavage. 

Her brows shoot up in shock but then her eyes flick down to his crotch and she licks her lips. 

“You did?”

He smiles wolfishly at her, remembering how she insisted on hearing his opinion about her dance earlier. 

_So Betty Cooper likes to hear all about my filthy fantasies? I can work with that._

He circles around her until he’s at her back and presses himself to her, his hard bulge just above the perfect roundness of her ass. She grinds her bottom up to his stiff length, making him hiss.

“I did,” he confirms, brushing her hair to the side. He does not so much kiss her shoulder as he just brushes his lips against her skin. “Not five minutes before I walked up to you in the parking lot, I was beating my cock thinking about you. Wanna know what I imagined?” 

She just nods quickly and snakes a hand up, holding on to his neck. 

“I thought about you touching yourself. I thought about you touching your tits...” His left hand goes to her right breast, his thumb finding the already taut nipple underneath the fabric. “And your pussy.” The other goes down over her covered sex.

He moans at how hot she is. He has never loved his height so much as he does in this moment. Looking down, he has a breathtaking, unobstructed view of what his hands are doing. He’s tracing tight circles over her core, pinching and tugging at her nipple, making her jolt and his dick pulse. 

“Sweet Pea,” she pleads.

“Yeah, in my mind, you were making all kinds of pretty noises, just like that. Moaning while you worked your pink slit. But those fingers of yours weren’t enough. You needed more and you knew I could give it to you.”

Betty’s hand covers the one over her sex. She presses it harder against her core. Sweet Pea nibbles at the crook of her neck.

“Got that sinful black lace off of you before I sat you up on a table and kneeled so I could get a nice mouthful of that dripping pussy of yours. Are you wet for me, Princess? Hmm. Let's find out.”

His hand sneaks inside her panties, his long fingers parting her folds. She’s soaked.

“Fuck,” he says hoarsely. 

Knowing he is the one getting her this wet sends a heady thrill up his spine. When he takes his hands from her breast and folds, she makes an adorable, disappointed whine. 

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” he teases. “I’m just dying to see you naked. And that can’t wait another fucking minute.” 

He starts undoing the hooks of her bustier.

 _What the fuck! There’s like a gazillion of them!_

He must have given some kind of tell of his frustration because Betty giggles and smirks at him over her shoulder ( _the little minx!_ ) before taking over. Probably a good thing because he had been this close to just ripping the offending garment off her. 

Hypnotized, he watches her deft fingers at work. When the last hook gives and the black fabric opens to reveal the pale expense of her back, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Reverently, he traces down her spine with the tip of his fingers, satisfied with the content humming coming from her.

Turning to face him, Betty catches his gaze with hers. He holds it while she slides the straps off her shoulders and lets the piece of clothing fall between them. 

Then he looks down. 

Of course, they’d be fucking perfect, her pink nipples just begging to be ravished. 

When _she_ takes his hand to her bare breast, his brain basically short-circuits. 

He lifts her and practically throws her on his bed where she bounces in a fit of giggles. He silently thanks his luck that he changed the sheets yesterday and they have that fresh laundry smell about them. He puts a knee on the mattress to join her but she shakes her head.

“Uh uh! I can’t be the only one naked.” 

He smirks. “Fair enough.”

He finishes taking off his shirt, followed by his jeans and socks, now down to his underwear. Betty frowns when he doesn’t move to take those off. 

“You still have your panties,” he explains. “So I should keep these on, right? You know, in the spirit of fairness and shit.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs playfully. Her bright green eyes full of contained laughter, she hooks her thumbs under the hem of her panties. Lifting her hips off the bed, she slides the scrap of lace down those gorgeous legs before scooting back until she can lay against his pillows.

He inhales sharply. “There’s nobody in Riverdale who’s having a better night than me. Holy. _Fuck_.”

She blushes prettily, but still raises an expectant eyebrow and a pointed look at his still covered nether regions. She even sits up straighter, as if not wanting to miss anything. He laughs darkly and takes off the last remnant of his clothing.

“Were you hoping for a show?” he teases.

“You got one from me,” she counters.

He chuckles. “Princess, there’s no fucking way I can match what you did on that stage.”

Betty’s gaze holds the same intensity it had when she inspected his living room, like she is taking in every detail. She licks her lips, and he can see her breathing quickening and her hands flexing on the sheets. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think you could give me an eyeful,” she answers with a teasing smile.

Sweet Pea knows he’s in decent shape and has nothing to envy in the size department. He certainly isn’t shy about his body and usually isn’t phased when being looked at. But Betty’s words and brazen scrutiny have his cock pointing at the ceiling as if she’d touched it. 

Sweet Pea joins her with a smile of his own, feeling unimaginably smug.

_Betty Cooper thinks I’m hot._

He feels like a 12-year-old whose crush tells him she _likes_ likes him.

He crawls over to her, nudging her knees apart. He leaves a trail of goosebumps from ankles to hips, positioning himself between her magnificent legs. They look at each other for a second. 

Betty’s big beautiful green eyes are so open and trusting. Sweet Pea feels so unbelievably lucky and humbled that tonight she would bestow that trust on him. Not that he isn’t used to being trusted. The Serpents’ community is based on trust. His fellow gang members trust him to lend a hand when needed, trust him to get a job done, trust him with their secrets, trust him at their back in a fight. But that’s different. They’ve known him since he was a kid. He’s not sure what he did to deserve Betty’s trust but he swears to himself he won’t let her regret it. 

She’s the one who grabs his dog tags to bring him in for a kiss. Their mouths meet and the feel of their bodies, skin to skin, is overwhelming. Like it’s all too much and not enough, all at once. Like he wants to be all over her but doesn't know where to start.

He kisses his way down to her breasts, cupping one while his mouth warms up the other. Sweet Pea quickly discovers she loves having her tits played with. He’s barely touched them and she immediately starts mewling. He brushes and teases making sure to avoid her nipples. Betty’s whines are so fucking pretty.

“Sweet Pea…” she moans, glaring at him.

When her hand comes over his to press it harder against the supple flesh, he can’t deny her any longer. 

_I knew I was gonna be a sucker for her._

He tightens his grip, and starts rolling and pinching one delicate peak while he bites and sucks on the other. 

“Yesss,” she exhales.

She weaves her fingers in his hair and starts undulating under him. She’s doing this incredible body roll that pushes her breasts in his face and rubs her sex against his stomach. She’s leaving traces of her wetness on his skin and it makes him crazy.

_Fuck! I want that shit all over me!_

His hand leaves her breast to travel down to her slit. She’s so wet that his fingers are immediately coated. Helped by the slickness of her arousal, he starts circling her clit. She rewards him with a shudder and the sexiest throaty moan. 

Right then and there, Sweet Pea decides his life purpose is now to hear Betty Cooper produce that sound again. 

And again. 

And again. 

So he gets to work.

He lets go of her nipple, his mouth making a lewd pop, and proceeds with a slight change in location. He nibbles his way down her body, stopping only to leave his teeth mark on her hip bone. 

_Jesus_. _She’s perfect down here too._

He rubs his face against her inner thigh like a cat.

“You smell so goddamn good, Princess. Like cupcakes and sex.” 

_Like something sweet and depraved._

Sweet Pea brushes kisses along her intimate lips, exulting with every one of her sighs. She lets out a shaky breath when he gives her folds a long slow stroke with his tongue. 

He keeps licking and probing with his tongue, getting more ravenous with every sound he steals from her. With every few flicks of his tongue, she tightens her legs, trapping his head between her thighs and if suffocation weren’t a real concern he’d just let her because it’s such a goddamn turn on. 

He inserts one, and then two digits inside her and laps at her clit. She squirms and pants faster, and Sweet Pea looks up at her. His eyes are met with the sight of Betty teasing her nipples and fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever been privileged enough to witness. 

He curls his fingers and starts sucking her precious little nub. Her upper body jumps off the bed and she lets out a squeal of surprise.

“Sweets!” she gasps.

Her hand shoots to his hair, giving it a sharp yank. The sting to his scalp is electric and he groans loudly into her sex. She takes away her hand, breathing “sorry.” He quickly grabs it and brings it back to his head, looking up at her with dark eyes he's hoping will convey how much he likes her heated response. 

He goes back to sucking at her between his teeth and rubbing that spot that had her thrashing about with increased pressure and speed. In no time at all, Betty is back to fisting her hands in his hair and riding his face and fingers with abandon. 

“Right there, right there, right there, rightthererightthererightthere…!” She repeats like a mantra, her voice rising higher and higher.

Sweet Pea knows she’s close so he rolls his eyes back up at her. He doesn’t want to miss a second of her coming undone for him. Her lips are still moving but all he hears is breathy nonsensical murmurs. Her breasts are heaving. The delicate swell of her stomach is quivering. The walls of her cunt pulse around his fingers, so he sucks harder on her clit. 

Then she lets out an impossibility long whine, her pussy seizes hard and she gushes liquid onto his hand and mouth. He releases some of the pressure on her sensitive clit but keeps working it gently until she comes down from her climax. 

When she finally lays unmoving, Sweet Pea rises to his knees and looks down at her prone form, wiping her juice from his face. Her eyes are unfocused, and her pale skin is flushed all over and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. Taking it all in, he’s filled with a very primal surge of self-satisfaction.

He lays carefully over her, propped on a forearm so he doesn’t crush her. Her gaze refocuses on him and he smiles (he just _knows_ he looks smug as fuck), tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she replies with a lazy smile of her own. 

Their lips meet and she slowly wraps her legs around his thighs, idly brushing her fingertips up and down his sides. Despite his raging erection, this feels weirdly peaceful and comfortable. They unhurriedly tease each other’s mouth with lips and tongue for a while. Until the kiss becomes hungry once more and his hand starts to flex on her hip. She tightens her legs around him to grind her soft, wet core against his hard length. 

Sweet Pea doesn’t want to rush. Really, he doesn’t. Knowing it might be his only one ever, he wants to savour his night with the exhilarating Betty Cooper. But the feeling of her sopping wet pussy dragging along his dick just sends him into pure agony. 

He can’t think of anything but being inside her. 

When he’s foraging blindly in his nightstand to find a condom, Betty sneaks a hand down his navel to grab his cock and begins a slow rhythm.

“Fuck,” he breaths out, looking down at her satisfied grin. “You just wait,” he gruffs. 

He finally palms the condom, opens it with his teeth and rolls the rubber down. He settles back between her thighs and looks down at her. He lets her align his dick so its head is nestled at her entrance.

“You sure you want this?” 

His inner self has _a lot_ of less than flattering diminutives for him. 

_Shut the fuck up, you goddamn moron!_

She just nods. 

Sweet Pea frowns. Suddenly, that’s not enough for him. He presses in half an inch and pulls back. She gasps.

“Tell me you want it,” he demands.

“I want it,” she answers quickly.

Her eagerness makes the corner of his lips tug. Again, he only just barely enters her before retreating. Sweat starts to bead on his temples from the sheer strength of will it takes him not to plunge all the way in.

“Say you want me.” 

She looks up at him for a full second and he is reminded that Betty Cooper doesn’t just say things she doesn’t mean or do things she’s not committed to. She swallows and cups his cheek.

“I… I want you, Sweet Pea.” 

Until this very second, he hadn’t realized how much he needed her to say this. He needs to know that he isn’t just a stand-in for her fuckwit ex. Her words make something inside him roar. He leans down to capture her mouth with a kiss and thrusts. 

The first push has him gritting his teeth.

“Shit! Your pussy’s so tight,” he hisses.

But her recent orgasm has her relaxed and slick enough that he bottoms out on the second thrust. The whole time, he’s watching Betty’s face while she’s watching his cock disappear inside her with an endearing captivation. For half a second, he’s wondering if she’s (was) a virgin. But surely she would have said something. Right? 

The thought flies right out of his consciousness when Betty gives a tentative roll of her hips. She looks up at him.

“Kiss me,” she demands breathily.

They kiss and their bodies get into a slow rhythm. 

She feels fucking heavenly. 

He leans back a little so he can cup a breast, flicking its pert nipple with his thumb and loving how she writhes and mewls in response. He manages to keep their pace steady even as he pushes the mound up to suck at its peak. However, when she raises her knees higher up so she can wrap her legs around his waist, his tempo falters. The new angle gets him in deeper and has them both panting. Before long, Betty is clinging to him, fingers digging into his back and heels in his ass. She’s practically chewing on his shoulder.

“Sweets… please…” she moans, her hips bucking wildly to meet his.

“You want more, Sweetheart?” He croons. 

She moans a “yes” at his neck.

Sweet Pea is only too happy to give her whatever the fuck she wants (especially when it aligns so conveniently with his own inclinations). Leaning back, he hooks her knees up over his forearms, withdraws until he’s almost completely out and then thrusts all the way in.

“Oh my god! Yes!!” She gasps, eyes rolling back in her skull.

With a self-congratulatory smile plastered on his face, Sweet Pea starts building up a faster pace. The position makes it a little harder to kiss her, but it also gives him a splendid view of her breasts bouncing with his every thrust. 

“Jesus, fuck! I love your tits!” He compliments, panting.

“You do?” Biting down on her lip, she palms her breasts, pressing them together and pinching her pretty pink nipples. 

“Holy fucking hell, you’re hot!” 

“So are you,” she breathes. 

He leans down for a kiss. She has to contort a little to accommodate it, but she doesn’t seem to mind. With one hand, she holds onto his shoulders, nails digging and dragging, the other weaves itself through his locks and pulls. The small sting of pain makes him ram violently into her. She emits a high pitch scream in response. He stops, instantaneously concerned.

“Shit! Did I hurt you?”

Chest heaving, she grabs a fistfull of his hair and looks at him with those dark dangerous eyes of hers.

“Don’t you _fucking_ dare stop!”

Sweet Pea feels dizzy, his blood having gone from hot, to cold, to boiling in seconds. He just stares at her for a heartbeat.

“Hold on to me.” 

She weaves her hands behind his neck without a word. Her legs still hanging over his forearms, he picks her up, bracing himself on his knees, and moves them over to the wall. As soon as he has Betty firmly against it, he sheaths himself forcefully in and doesn’t even pause before he slams into her again and again. She’s spread wide and he hits her cervix with every thrust. Her striking green eyes are open wide, and she seems to have lost her breath for a moment. 

He fucks her at a furious pace; she’s bouncing from the sheer intensity of it. The bedroom is filled with the sound of their labored breathing and the slapping of flesh on flesh, with the scent sex and sweat. 

Betty is moaning and whining incoherently. Sweet Pea chuckles triumphantly. She yanks at his hair hard and he knows she’s chastising him for being a cocky bastard. 

So he pounds into her harder.

And she’s screaming.

His ears are ringing and he doesn’t care. He fucking loves it. There’s no doubt in Sweet Pea’s mind that all of Sunnyside knows what’s going on in his trailer. That’s ok. He wants them to hear. He wants them to know the sublime Betty Cooper is falling apart in his arms, that he is irrevocably making her his.

He can feel (and hear) she’s almost there. Every muscle in her body feels tight and her gorgeous face looks in pain. Sweet Pea needs her to topple over that edge, sensing his own release coming. 

“You can let go, Princess. I’ve got you,” he pants.

As if she has been waiting for those words, she careens into sweet ecstasy, taking him with her. Her pussy clenches so hard on his dick, he can barely move as he works through both of their orgasms. He feels destroyed in the most delicious way. She’s still clawing at his back and shoulders but he can’t even feel it, he is so taken with the sight of her. 

She’s shaking, her head thrown back against the wall, mouth open in a silent sob, tears trickling from the corner of her eyes. 

Betty Cooper is fucking spectacular. 

When they’ve both more or less come down, he sits back on his heels and lets her legs fall on either side of him. She groans at the movement (Sweet Pea supposes having been bent like a pretzel and fucked hard against a wall might have something to do with that). He gathers her limp, sweaty body against his chest, her head lolling on his shoulder. He smiles indulgently, brushing the sweaty locks from her face. 

She’s a glorious wreck. 

_Yeah, I’m definitely getting big-headed here_. 

His spent cock slips out of her with a wet gush. They’re both a mess of bodily fluids. 

“How about a shower, uh?”

She sighs. “That would be marvellous. Except I’m 100% certain my legs aren’t in working order.” 

He chuckles. “No worries, Princess. I’ve got you,” he says, an echo of their previous activity.

“You don’t have to…” she begins, looking at him. 

“The night ain’t over, Cupcake. You’re still mine. Come on,” he says, already leading her to the bathroom.

Sweet Pea has never actually taken a shower with someone before, but he decides he likes it. She’s tracing his tattoos with her fingertips and licking the water off them. He’s gliding soapy hands all over her and he cannot stop smiling at all the small ways he’s marked her. She has stubble burns on her breasts, hickeys on her collarbones and small bruised circles on her ass that can only be his fingerprints. He’s aware he’s being territorial as fuck but he can’t muster any guilt over the caveman attitude. 

After the shower, Betty is standing, wrapped in a towel, contemplating her scattered clothes and looking unsure. 

“I should… I know you probably… Maybe I could call…” she’s babbling but Sweet Pea doesn’t let her finish her thought.

He walks over to his dresser, grabs a random band T-shirt (it’s actually his favorite and he has to rummage a little to find it, but he tries not to dwell too long on that) and hands it out to her. 

She accepts it, smiling down shyly at the shirt in her hands. But when she looks up, her eyes are hot and bold. 

_Betty Cooper, you are full of contradictions,_ he muses.

She drops the towel and makes a show of putting the shirt on, stretching with her tits on display, before she walks to his bed and climbs in on all fours. Sweet Pea gets a fleeting peep of her delicious pussy before she gets comfortable under the sheets. 

He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief with his hands on his hips. “You are so bad, Kitten.”

She cocks a teasing eyebrow at him. “Am I? Or am I very, very _good_?”

He chuckles again. “You’re the very best kinda bad,” he replies before turning off the light, dropping his own towel and joining her.

He has her turn on her side so he can cuddle to her back. After some wriggling, they both get comfortable. He slips a leg between hers and wraps an arm around her middle.

“This ok?” He murmurs in her wet hair, already feeling the pull of sleep.

“It’s perfect,” she slurs drowsily.

“Sweet dreams, Cupcake.”

Within minutes, her breathing is deep and even, and he knows she’s gone under. 

This night has been unexpected to say the least. Betty Cooper _is_ unexpected. She’s so different than he thought she was. Sure, she’s cute and sweet and even innocent in some ways. But she’s also daring and brave and exciting. And sexy as all hell. 

He barely knows her but he feels like he understands her. 

She wants to learn how to embrace her inner beast. He’s intimately familiar with his own and how to feed it, so he can help her with that. 

As far as Sweet Pea is concerned, Betty Cooper is already his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! 
> 
> Next chapter is on it's way (yay!). It will be much shorter and a Betty POV.


	2. Good Morning, Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty wakes up the morning after her night with Sweet Pea and finds herself a little overwhelmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here goes the second and last chapter of this fic :) In which we get to see the morning after through Betty's eyes and we also learn why Sweet Pea calls her Cupcake ;)
> 
> Thanks again to the lovely [Lucivar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucivar/pseuds/Lucivar) for being my beta. I love getting your input <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Betty feels like she’s wrapped up in pure coziness. She’s warm. _So warm_. Her cheek lies against a hot smooth surface. She nuzzles her mouth and nose against it, and takes a deep, contented breath.

_Hmmm. Smells nice too._

There’s a slow, steady, comforting drumming noise in her ear. Betty inches herself closer to this wonderful source of warmth, fully intending to sink back into slumber despite the soft light of daybreak soaking the room. But something keeps tugging at her consciousness, preventing her from slipping back in the arms of Morpheus. 

It’s Saturday and she has nothing to do, nowhere to go. She could definitely use some more rest. Her body feels heavy and a little achy, the way she would feel after a particularly grueling cheer practice. And she’s all toasty and comfortable. There’s absolutely no reason for her to meet the day just yet. Betty hums dozily and wraps herself tighter around that hot body next to her, sliding a foot up a long leg, trailing her fingers down well-defined abs.

She freezes.

Her eyes shoot open, taking in the designs inked into the torso she’s currently pressed against. Last night’s course of events abruptly floods back to memory. She performed the Serpent’s dance at the Whyte Wyrm; Jughead broke up with her in the parking lot; Sweet Pea found her in said parking lot; he took her to his place and they had sex. She had sex with Sweet Pea.

_Oh my god! I had sex with Sweet Pea!_

_You fucking lost your virginity to Sweet Pea, girlfriend!_

_Why does my inner voice sound like Veronica?_

Betty’s brain is slowly processing the shocking revelation. That certainly accounts for the slight soreness she’s feeling between her legs. Then she recalls in salacious detail how that soreness came to be and feels heat rise to her face… among other areas. 

What actually shocks Betty the most, however, is the absolute absence of shame associated with her actions. Shouldn’t she feel embarrassed that, mere hours after being dumped, she basically threw her V-card at the first guy who talked to her? 

She can practically hear Veronica call her a hussy with a sly smile and a wiggle of her perfect eyebrows.

But it hadn’t been like that. Sweet Pea hadn’t just been in the right place, at the right time (although timing certainly had played a role in the way the night unfolded). 

He was genuinely outraged when he learned Jug had broken up with her, going so far as to suggest beating him up for her (and the fact that he actually seemed to relish the idea all too much should probably alarm Betty a little more). Having someone act so spontaneously protective of her in her moment of vulnerability had been oddly comforting.

Thanks to him, she smiled and laughed on one of the most depressing nights of her life. Sweet Pea made her feel cared for and listened to. At every turn, he had read her cues with disarming ease and known exactly what she needed.

Everything, Betty realizes, had felt so… easy. 

He let her rant about Jughead and then helped her let go of her anger. In the most unexpected way. 

It had awakened something violent and vindictive within her. 

Especially when he taunted her.. 

The fear of being dismissed, of being reduced to a perfect, pretty, sparkly stereotype is a particularly sore point for her. 

Considering the emotional whirlwind she went through last night, Sweet Pea didn’t need to push her very much to bring forth her anger. All of her bottled-up frustration, she put into that one hit.

Betty smiles at the memory. The expression on his face when she had punched him… He had been so _pleased_ with her. He had literally beamed at her. 

That moment. That was when she had really started _seeing_ him. 

Relieved (at least momentarily) of her pain and anger, she had suddenly been more aware of him. Aware of how incredibly attractive he is. She’d noticed the angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips when he smirked, the square set of his shoulders. She also saw the way he looked at her. 

Like she was something delicious that he wanted to taste. 

That had felt _so_ good. 

Last night, she had laid herself bare (literally and figuratively) and been rejected by the one person she had thought would embrace her. Someone she had hoped would understand her. But the minute Jughead had gotten a glimpse of the other side of her, he had been repulsed. Like he was determined to ignore the parts of her that are not so cute, not so pure. The parts of her of which he didn’t approve. 

Betty feels her throat tighten. She blinks rapidly, fighting the tears she can feel coming. 

_I will not fucking cry for him! Not now._ She steels herself, taking deep, deliberate breaths.

 _Sweet Pea_ hadn’t been repulsed.

Infinitely careful not to wake him, Betty slowly tilts her head up so she can look at him. In sleep, his face looks younger. It’s hard to associate this boy with the tall, looming shadow who approached her in the White Wyrm’s parking lot. 

It hadn’t been the first time she’d seen him. She’d noticed this dark, intimidating character who seemed to dislike Jughead (for reasons unbeknownst to her). Always intense and frowning in apparent disapproval. She remembers the feeling of trepidation in her stomach when she saw his scowling figure stride in her direction last night.

Until his expression softened into a smile. 

It was painfully obvious he was making a conscious effort to appear non-threatening. Betty stifles a laugh at the thought. Sweet Pea couldn’t pull off non-threatening, even if he wore bunny slippers. You would just have to look at him to know that he could wield his very body as a weapon. It’s in the way holds himself, the way he moves. He has an energy that seems to simmer just under his skin, ready to soar when summoned. 

This is not to say that she is scared of him, although his personality certainly needs some getting used to. 

Sweet Pea is unlike anyone she’s ever met. 

He is blunt (almost to the point of rudeness, she suspects) and can utter the most outrageous things point-blank. But, to Betty’s surprise, she actually finds his bluntness to be remarkably attractive. You always know where you stand with someone like Sweet Pea, there’s no guessing game. In contrast, her life is full of secrets and lies, full of people hiding things from her, which has her constantly wondering about people’s thoughts and motives. Being around someone this genuine feels so incredibly refreshing that she would be willing to put up with the occasional brashness. 

And, despite his natural propensity to scowl and apparent lack of filter, he had been nothing but nice to her. Looking at him now, with his thick, inky locks sticking out in every direction, she actually finds him kind of adorable.

 _Are those the adjectives you’re going with?_ Nice _and_ adorable _? Have you lost your damn mind?! The smoking hunk you’re laying in bed with is_ not _adorable. Try exciting and hot as hell!_

Betty’s eyes fall on his full lips and she feels something warm spread in her belly. Actually, she feels herself becoming warm everywhere at the memory of how this perfect mouth touched her last night. 

_And where_ hasn’t _his mouth touched me last night?_ She muses, deliciously flushed.

The recollection of his mouth on her: bruising her lips, biting her neck, sucking at her breasts, grazing her belly, nuzzling her thighs, eating her… Betty shivers, remembering his dark eyes looking up at her hungrily from between her thighs while he sucked at her clit with his fingers pumping inside her. Those eyes had been so entirely intent on her, as if Sweet Pea would have been happy just watching her coming undone under his touch all night. He had made her feel… worshipped. 

She wants to whimper at the slickness now pooling at her core. 

Betty wonders what it must be like to pleasure someone like that, to completely focus on making someone else feel good. She’s suddenly overcome with the urge to return the favour… like... right now. She can picture herself diving under the sheets and waking Sweet Pea up with her mouth around his dick. Exhilarating shivers run across her skin at the idea.

It seems odd to feel this way about someone of whom she hadn’t known the name before last night. Yet, all she can think about is running her mouth all over his tanned skin and jumping his bones. Betty wonders if everyone feels like this after having had sex. She imagines that they must. It seems to her that, once that door is open, there’s just no way to close it again. 

Unless the sex is bad. 

Which it most definitely hadn’t been.

Betty flashes back to how it had felt to have him inside her, filling her, stretching her. It had been overwhelming and invasive but in the most wonderful way. Like being exquisitely taken over. The way their bodies had synched up as they moved together had been hypnotic. An uninterrupted flow of wordless communication. Then her body had started feeling restless and wild, but, just like he’d done all night, Sweet Pea had read her like a book.

_“You want more, Sweetheart?”_

Yes. Yes, she had. 

And he gave her just what she needed. 

The memory of his large body flexing over her, of his hips moving against hers, has her heart racing. Betty goes to squeeze her thighs together to quell the tingling sensation at her core, but that brings on two realizations. One, she can’t actually squeeze them together because she’s basically draped over Sweet Pea like a blanket and one of _his_ thighs is between hers. Second, she is not wearing any underwear. So she is, for all intents and purposes, pressing her naked (and increasingly moist) nether regions to his equally naked thigh.

She freezes and holds her breath.

“Good morning, Cupcake,” comes a gravelly voice followed by a yawn. When she doesn’t answer, he follows with a playful, “I know you’re awake.”

“Hum, yes. Hi. Good morning,” she splutters while detangling herself from him.

_Oh my god! How does one act after a one-night stand? How do people do this?_

_Emily Post’s_ Etiquette _doesn’t cover morning-after protocol._

_I am so totally unprepared for this situation!_

Sweet Pea doesn’t seem to be afflicted by the same awkwardness. He just kisses her shoulder and gets out of bed. And that’s how Betty is delightfully reminded that he went to sleep last night without a stitch on. An appreciative (and completely involuntary) sigh leaves her lips as she watches him exit the room. She can hear the water running and Sweet Pea moving around in the bathroom. Try as she may, she still can't get her nerves under control when he re-enters the bedroom. She can’t help but let her eyes roam all over his body, enjoying the sight of his muscles bulging under the tanned skin with every movement as he gets himself into a pair of sweatpants. Sweet Pea is really quite beautiful. 

_And those tattoos? Swoon!_

When did she start finding tattoos attractive?

 _How about when you were licking water off them in the shower last night?_ Imaginary-Ronnie proposes snidely.

Betty licks her lips absentmindedly. 

_Yeah, that would do it._

Then, she notices how the artful designs are not the only things marking his skin. His back and shoulders look like he was attacked by a feral cat. 

_She_ did that. 

She, Betty Cooper, did this to him while he was vigorously fucking her against a wall. 

Her breath hitches in her chest and it’s like she can still hear his ragged breath in her ear, feel his hips slap against hers, taste the salt of his skin on her tongue. She averts her eyes only to have them fall on the wall in question. Betty immediately turns back to Sweet Pea who is picking up clothes and towels off the floor. Still bare-chested. Still looking delicious.

_Why isn’t he putting on a shirt?_

_Are you crazy? You do_ not _want him to put more clothes on!_

_This is very distracting._

_I wouldn’t mind being further distracted,_ Betty’s inner-Veronica inserts deviously _. Or how about I take this T-shirt off and distract_ him _._

_Oh my god! I’ve turned into some kind nymphomaniac!_

“Betty? You’re still in there, Doll?”

She looks at his face, startled. Sweet Pea is looking at her expectantly. 

“I’m sorry. What?”

He smirks at her smugly. “I asked you if you wanted coffee. But I see you’re already drinking _all of this_ in,” he mocks, gesturing at his naked chest.

Betty scoffs and rolls her eyes, trying to cover the fact that she is so embarrassingly hyper-aware of his delectable body.

_You can do this, Betty. People have casual sex all the time. You can do small talk. Be cool about it._

Betty swings her legs over the edge of the bed, pads over to the dresser and casually (at least, she hopes that’s how it comes off) rests her backside against it. 

“Sure, coffee sounds good.” She clears her throat and tucks her hair behind her ears. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the domestic type.” She smiles, making a vague gesture from the hamper, where he’d put his dirty clothes, to her own clothes now neatly folded on his dresser.

He shrugs. “I’ve pretty much been on my own since I was eleven. I had to housebreak myself years ago, Cupcake.” 

“You keep calling me Cupcake. Of all the ridiculous pet names, why ‘Cupcake’?” She teases.

The look in Sweet Pea’s eyes and the smile quirking at his lips are nothing short of wicked, and Betty already knows he’s going to say something scandalous. Looking at him, she can only marvel at how his deep brown eyes are just as blunt as his words can be. She is overcome with a rush of heat before he even opens his mouth.

Sweet Pea walks up to her. His hands find purchase on the dresser behind her, effectively trapping her. He leans in until his nose brushes her ear.

“I call you Cupcake because you look so fucking sweet and tasty…” He draws a deep breath behind her ear. “... that all I wanna do is lick your frosting.” 

Betty lets out a pathetic (at least to her ears) whimper.

Sweet Pea isn’t done; he trails delicate kisses across the sensitive skin of her neck. 

“I wanna lick it off my lips,” he continues.

He gives her neck a flick of his tongue. 

“And I wanna suck it off my fingers.” 

He sucks on the same spot, making her toes curl, before pulling his mouth from her skin with an obscene wet sound.

“And I wanna clean it right off your beautiful, perfect cunt.”

By now, Betty is panting. 

_Holy shit! I’ll never be able to look at a cake display without getting horny ever again._

“Now, Cupcake, I need you to tell me the truth,” he says with a low voice that makes her clamp her thighs together. “How wet are you, right now?” 

Sweet Pea leans back to catch her eyes and the arrogance in his is unmistakable.

_That devil already knows! I guess there’s no point denying it._

And Betty finds she doesn’t actually want to. She wants to be bold. She wants to tap into that part of herself that is so completely self-assured, the part that won’t let embarrassment or guilt get in the way of what she wants. And she wants to affect him the same way he does her. 

Blood racing, Betty slides her hand down her body, deliberately stroking her stomach, and sneaks it under the hem of the shirt where it finds her uncovered folds. Even knowing how turned on she is, Betty is still surprised by how wet she is down there. She slips her fingers along her slick lips and then raises the glistering tips until they are level with her mouth. Riveted, Sweet Pea follows her hand like a pet waiting for a treat. 

When Betty is sure he’s looking at her mouth, she whispers “very,” and sucks her fingers clean.

Sweet Pea looks like he’s been struck: lips parted, pupils blown wide and chest heaving. It makes her feel unbelievably powerful. She smiles and raises a challenging eyebrow at him.

“Plan to do anything about it, Sweet Pea?” she taunts.

His breathy _“fuck!”_ is all the warning she gets before she’s unceremoniously lifted and set on the dresser. In one motion, Sweet Pea falls to his knees, lifts the shirt over her hips and dives mouth-first between her thighs. 

“Sh-shit!” she yelps.

There’s no easing into it; he just straight-up devours her and Betty has to brace herself against the window frame behind her. She stares down, and the sight of him on his knees before her, with the mark of her nails carved into his shoulders, sends a dark thrill up her spine. 

Her brain can’t quite detail all that Sweet Pea is doing to her. It’s just a blur of lips and tongue and teeth. Within moments, Betty is a moaning and panting mess. She weaves one hand into his dark hair, wanting to keep him there (quite unnecessary, however, since Sweet Pea seems rather happy right where he is). 

Betty is already shaking when his fingers join the party. Her body feels like it’s on fire. She plants a foot in his shoulder and starts rocking her hips against his mouth. 

“You… you’re… uuh… so good at this,” she manages to get out between pants and moans.

Sweet Pea doesn’t answer but the blatant self-satisfied glint in his eyes plainly says _“I know”_.

_The arrogant brat._

Betty fists her fingers in his hair and pulls, which causes him to close his eyes and groan against her tender folds. The vibration has her lose her breath for a second and she feels herself spasm around his fingers. 

So she does it again.

Sweet Pea’s fingers become more insistent and he sucks harder her clit. She feels coiled impossibly tight and when his teeth graze that tiny bundle of nerves, all that delightful built-up pressure snaps into an overwhelming wave of pleasure. Eyes shut tight, she breathes out his name as her head drops back against the cool window.

In a daze, Betty registers that Sweet Pea’s fingers are still lazily pumping in and out of her. He nuzzles her inner thigh and his hot breath on her sensitive skin sends pleasurable jolts up her body. 

He looks up at her with hooded eyes. “That was so fucking pretty, Princess. I want you to give me another one.” He smirks. “Think you can do that for me, Love?” 

Sweet Pea doesn’t wait for Betty to respond; he puts his mouth back on her and flicks his tongue at her clit between his teeth. So soon after her climax, it’s almost too much. Almost painful. Every touch feels like an electric shock. It makes her stomach twitch.

“Sweet Pea,” she pleads pitifully, but for the life of her, she can’t tell if she’s asking him to stop or to keep going. 

“Come on, Beautiful. Give me all you got,” he croons.

His fingers, slick from her arousal, move up to replace his mouth. They stroke her energetically, back and forth, while he sucks on the silky skin next to her hipbone. Just as Betty is about to tell him that it _is_ too much, that she can’t take it anymore, her second orgasm hits her. She moans loudly, biting hard on her lip, while her pussy clenches desperately on nothing. 

Sweet Pea gives her swollen folds one last gentle lick.

“Good girl,” he whispers hoarsely against her skin.

As she catches her breath, Sweet Pea nips gently at the foot on his shoulder. Thus begins the slow trek of his mouth up her body. He nips and kisses every inch up her leg, hip and stomach, raising the T-shirt as it drapes over his head. Betty hums and moans when he reaches her breasts and starts to lave them with rapt dedication, tongue twirling around a nipple before tugging at it with lips and teeth. Betty's whole body feels limp and she knows that if Sweet Pea wasn’t there, she would just fall down on her face.

He rises to his full height, looking down at her.

“Best goddamn breakfast ever,” he says and she chuckles drowsily.

Then, he gently brushes the hair off her face, and the gesture and the look in Sweet Pea’s eyes hold a warmth and a tenderness that makes something in Betty’s chest hurt. 

Her heart is not ready for someone other than Jughead looking at her like that. 

So she cups a hand at the nape of his neck, closes her eyes and angles her head for a kiss. He meets his lips with hers and snakes his arms around her. She can taste herself on his tongue and the sensation is so erotic it makes her moan in his mouth. Their bodies mesh to one another and Betty wraps her legs around his hips because it feels like the most natural thing to do. She can feel his erection pressed to her core, only separated by the material of his sweats.

After a minute or two of their mouths dancing together and his hands caressing every square inch of skin they can reach, Betty’s body feels positively wild. She knows she wants him again. 

It’s actually slightly unnerving to Betty how strong an effect he has on her. She never considered herself to be a particularly sexual person. She doesn’t sleep around or make out with random boys at parties. She is more of a romantic. _Right?_ So it is mystifying to her how easily Sweet Pea can coax out that side of her. Or is the idea that a person can only be one or the other just another way she has let people’s expectations dictate what kind of person she ought to be?

_Shut up, brain!_

Betty doesn’t want to question it. Not now. She just wants to revel in how completely void of fear she feels, how easy it is with him to know what she wants and simply ask for it. 

So she does exactly that.

“I want you,” she murmurs against his mouth. “I want you inside me.” 

The flexing of his hands on her hips and a peck on her lips is all the answer she gets before he momentarily leaves her to grab a condom. She hops down on her feet, intending to climb back on the bed. But, when Sweet Pea faces her again, he looks at her contemplatively and it stops her in her tracks.

“Turn around,” he asks - voice low, eyes dark - his thumbs hooking under the waistband of his pants.

Betty complies, although she is tempted to ogle him a little before doing so. Behind her, she hears the shuffling of clothes and the rustling of a wrapper. Such inconspicuous sounds to make every last nerve in her body sizzle in anticipation. 

Sweet Pea comes up behind her. She can feel the heat coming off him even before his fingers brush up the outside of her thighs, and over her hips under the shirt. The idea of any barrier between them suddenly untolerable, Betty pulls the piece of clothing over her head and the low growl coming from behind her sounds approving. He drapes her hair over one shoulder and his wet mouth closes on the now clear patch of skin. The sigh coming out of her is just pure bliss.

While Sweet Pea’s lips, tongue and teeth do wicked things to her neck and shoulders, his hands travel down her arms until he can grab her hands. He guides them to the dresser in front of her where he lays them flat onto the glossy surface. The movement has her bending forward with him snuggly fitted against her ass. 

The feeling of his hard length combined with the memory of that very appendage plowing into her last night makes Betty feel mortifyingly needy. She arches back against him, hoping to relay her wish for him to move things along. 

She feels his chest vibrate with chuckles against her back and his lips curl on her shoulder. Sweet Pea nips at the skin there and slides a hand between her thighs.

“Eager for me to fill your hot little pussy, Kitten?” He teases, his fingers searching her folds as if to confirm she’s ready for him.

_No worries there, stud. I’ve been in a near-constant state of arousal since we kissed in your living room last night._

Before Betty can think of a comeback, his hand leaves her and she feels the thick head of his cock sink into her molten core. Her eyes flutter close at that slight burning sensation that comes with having him stretching her so intimately. That fullness… it still feels new and unfamiliar, but also overpowering and exquisite.

_Well, now I get why Veronica constantly wants to tear Archie’s clothes off._

When, finally, his hips meet with her backside, Sweet Pea stills and drops his forehead to her shoulder. She can feel his hot breath coming out in short bursts. 

“Fuck, Princess. Your cunt was made for my cock,” he groans with gritted teeth.

The filthy compliment has her contract around him, causing them both to moan. His hands tighten on her hips and he drags himself almost all the way out before he plunges back in. 

The pace starts nice and easy. Sweet Pea nuzzles her neck and showers her skin with soft kisses. His hands start to wander, his long callous fingers surprisingly gentle and reverent. They travel across her back, down her sides, over her stomach and up to cup her breasts. While one teases her nipple with its palm, the other slides up her neck to cradle her jaw. He gently coaxes her head to the side so he can catch her lips with his. The kiss is as long and languid as their coupling and, for a while, Betty is content just letting him have his way and allowing herself to enjoy this lazy rhythm. 

Until she realizes that, without even meaning to, she’s thrusting back to meet him and tilting her hips to take him in deeper. 

“Fuuuck,” Sweet Pea moans, his hand spasming on her breast. “You… you won’t let me have this one, huh? No… hmm… no sweet, slow morning fuck for me… is that it?” He scolds, panting. “You’re just gonna be a bad kitty? Want me to take you hard and deep?”

_Sweet Mother! Is he planning to talk me to orgasm? Because it's totally working. He could do phone sex and I would happily pay for a subscription._

She just thrusts back more determinedly but Sweet Pea’s grip on her hips tightens.

“Tell me then, Kitten. How’s it gonna be?” He keeps teasing.

“Faster,” she breathes out. She looks over her shoulder to catch Sweet Pea’s eyes. “Harder.”

His gaze smolders with such sinful delight that it’s all Betty can do not to let her knees give out. And the smile that breaks his dark handsome face is just as wicked.

“Anything my bad little Kitten wants.” 

Betty lets herself be bent further down until she rests on her forearms and her nipples graze the cool surface. Sweet Pea grips one of her legs behind the knee and hikes it up on the dresser. She bites down a moan. She feels so open and exposed.

Sweet Pea strokes his hand up her thigh and hip until it rests on her waist. 

“Just look at you,” he comments, trailing kisses along her spine. “So goddamn lovely.”

She keens at his words but it turns into a shaky gasp when he abruptly slams his hips onto her ass.

“That’s what you want, baby?”

“Yes!” she hisses. “Just like that.”

Betty slowly loses her grasp on reality under Sweet Pea’s long, deep thrusts. All that exists is the sensation of his hard cock stroking her from the inside in a way that will surely and completely annihilate her sanity. She can feel her slick run down her inner thigh. At some point, she starts to whimper and rock back against him desperately, not even caring how pathetically needy she is. 

“More,” someone moans and Betty thinks it might be her, but it doesn’t sound like her.

Sweet Pea helps her off the dresser and guides her to the bed where he settles her on all fours. Standing behind her, he positions himself at her entrance and just rams back into her, making them both gasp. He resumes his forceful strokes and Betty is surprised by the wanton sounds coming out of her mouth. She tries to bite them down but Sweet Pea won’t have that.

“Don’t,” he says between clenched teeth. “I wanna hear all of your pretty noises.”

He punctuates his request with a sharp thrust that has her lips fall open. Under his persuasion, she abdicates any sorts of control she was holding on to and lets her moans, whines and whimpers fill the bedroom. 

Sweet Pea pushes her forward so he can climb on his knees behind her. Betty feels his chest fold over her back. One of his hands falls next to hers on the bed and the other holds onto her hip with a vice-like grip while he pounds into her in short, sharp jabs. He breathes an assortment of curses and praises in her hair, telling her how gorgeous she is, how good she feels, how he never wants to stop fucking her. She shivers like his words are caressing her as surely as his hands would. 

Betty starts to shake and she feels herself convulse around his dick. She can sense Sweet Pea’s whole body tense against her. He moves a hand to her pussy and rubs her over-sensitive clit. Her vision starts to blur and her arms give out from under her, making her all the more open for him. She tumbles over that pleasurable edge with a lewd moan, eyes rolling back inside her head, and Sweet Pea joins her a few erratic thrusts later.

His big frame collapses on top of her. Betty can feel his heart hammering against her back. He’s heavy but it feels heavenly to have him there. With a last kiss on her shoulder blade, Sweet Pea rolls off her and she immediately misses the weight of his body. She is vaguely aware of him getting rid of the condom before settling himself on his stomach next to her. She turns to look at him while they both catch their breath. 

He lays, eyes closed with his face half-hidden in his bicep, a picture of absolute relaxation and peace that mirrors her current sentiment. Her gaze roves down, from his wide shoulders to his strong legs, and then up again. She doesn’t want to disturb this quiet moment but it’s like her hand has a mind of its own.

Betty traces down the valley of his spine with both eyes and fingers, happy to note the goosebumps she raises on the way. From the corner of her eye, she sees the corner of Sweet Pea’s lips curl softly but his eyes remain closed. She dares a feather touch over the perfect curve of his butt and is surprised by a sudden urge to sink her teeth into it, imagining what biting down on that soft flesh would feel like.

She refrains. 

Barely.

In an effort not to challenge her own willpower too dearly, she drags her hand back up to his shoulders. She finds the angry red scratches she left there yesterday and grazes her fingertips unhurriedly over the criss-crossing pattern.

“I did a number on you, didn’t I?” She comments softly.

She finds a wicked sort of satisfaction at seeing the marks there. They are the physical embodiment of the part of her she both dreads and craves.

Sweet Pea grins broadly. “That, you did.”

His face and tone are so joyous, so pleased. He looks like a little boy proudly showing off a perfect report card, saying _Look! I did so good, didn’t I?_ She wants to fawn at how impossibly cute he is, but also moan at how painfully arousing it is that he’s so happy with her marking his body.

And now Betty almost regrets not taking a bite out of his ass.

She bites down on her lip instead, and that draws his attention to her mouth. Betty can already see where that will lead them and her pragmatic side won’t let her be _that_ overindulgent.

She clears her throat. “I seem to remember you offering coffee?” 

“Right,” he sighs. “I guess we should get back on track or we’ll spend the whole day in here.” 

That seems to give him pause and he rakes his gaze over her naked form. Betty can tell he’s reconsidering his statement. She can’t let him.

“Sweet Pea,” she chides.

“Fine,” he groans in mock annoyance.

They both start to get dressed and, with every item of clothing they put on, Betty can feel the lascivious cloud they’ve been floating in dissipate. 

Time to get back to reality. 

She follows Sweet Pea out of his room but stops by the bathroom while he continues to the kitchen. 

Betty splashes some water in her face and combs her fingers through her hair, looking at her reflection over the sink and trying to make sense of all that has brought her here. 

When she got to the Wyrm yesterday, she thought the night would end with her feeling more secure, both in her relationship with Jughead and her sense of self. God knows that, after being manipulated by a murderous psychopath, Betty needed _something_ in her life that was looking up. But Jug threw that plan off royally, leaving her feeling completely unmoored. Then, moping in the parking lot, she thought she would spend the rest of night crying over her broken relationship and pride. But Sweet Pea swept in and took her away on his faithful motorized steed. 

Betty wants to giggle at the outlandishness of the whole thing. 

_I guess it’s better than weeping_ , she thinks wryly.

 _Especially when your knight in shining leather can reduce you to a lustful puddle with the power of his voice alone_ , her inner Veronica purrs.

There’s really no arguing with that so Betty gives herself a last look before joining Sweet Pea in the kitchen. She finds him sitting at the table. He holds a notebook against his raised knee and a pen twirling between his long fingers. He looks up from the page when she enters. 

“Coffee’s ready,” he says, indicating the gurgling coffeemaker next to which mug, milk and sugar are already waiting. 

“Thanks.” She fixes herself a mug and takes a seat facing him. “May I see?” she asks, tilting her chin at his notebook.

He smiles looking down at his work. “No.”

“Why?” The curious, inquisitive part of her wants to just grab the thing and look.

“It’s not done.”

“You’ll show me when it’s done?”

His smile broadens. “Sure.”

Betty is not convinced. She humphs and takes out her phone, sipping her coffee. As soon as she turns the device on, a string of texts and missed calls start popping in. Two texts are from her parents (the one from her mom promising one hell of a talking to), the rest of the texts and the calls are from Veronica. 

**B: Hey V. I told my parents I’m staying over at your place. If anyone asks, would you mind covering for me?**

**V: Of course not. I’ve got you, girlfriend.**

**V: OMG! Are you spending the night at Jug’s?! FINALLY!**

**B: I’m not with Jug. Actually, we’re not together in any sense of the word anymore.**

**V: What?!**

**B: He broke up with me.**

**V: But how? What happened?**

**V: Wait. Who are you with then?**

**B: I’ll talk to you tomorrow, V.**

**\----------- New Messages -----------**

**V: B!**

**V: Don’t you dare leave me hanging!**

**V: Where are you?**

**V: Are you safe?**

**V: Are you alright?**

**V: I swear to God, I’m going to make that Kafka-wannabe eat his goddamn beanie!**

**V: Alright. I give up. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.**

**V: And we’re having breakfast together.**

**V: AND THAT IS NON-NEGOTIABLE!**

**V: Morning, B. Please let me know you’re ok.**

**V: B?**

Betty feels guilt points its head for having let her friend worry like that.

**B: Hey V. Yes, I’m ok.**

**V: Thank God! I’m picking you up in half an hour.**

She bites her lip, hesitating before she replies.

**B: I’m not home.**

**V: What do you mean you’re not home? Where are you?!**

**V: WHO ARE YOU WITH?!**

**B: I’d rather we talked about this in person.**

The three little dots pop up and disappear a few times and it takes a minute for the next text to come in.

**V: Tell me you didn’t…….**

She doesn’t know how to respond to that so she doesn’t.

**V: You magnificent strumpet!!!**

**V: Fine! But I warn you, I’m in a mood and I’ll be expecting a disturbing amount of deets.**

**V: DISTURBING, BETTY!**

Betty can’t help but laugh a little at that. She has no doubt Veronica will not rest until she obtains a satisfactory amount of steamy details.

**B: Deal. I’ll call you in a bit.**

She puts her phone away and looks up at Sweet Pea. All his focus is on the dance of pen on paper, which lets her stare at him freely over the rim of her mug. It’s strange to see him like this: relaxed, sketching and drinking coffee. All she ever saw of him until last night was the dark, intense and intimidating gang member.

_What do gang members do on weekends? Devise criminal schemes in their fuzzy slippers and PJs?_

Only one way to know. 

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” 

His eyes don’t leave the paper as he answers “Not really. We usually watch movies at Toni’s because she’s the only one with a semi-adequate TV.” He smirks and shoots her a quick glance. “I’m definitely going over at Fogarty’s later. I gotta remind that idiot about him hitting on your mom. Fuck. I’m never letting him live that down. And I need to rub in his face what a night he missed ‘cause he got so fucked-up drunk.”

 _Yeah. And me taking my clothes off was part of the entertainment_ , she thinks, mortified.

“So that’s what Serpents do on weekends? Movie night and messing around with their friends? It’s almost disappointing,” she mock-sighs, trying to get over her embarrassment. 

He snorts. “What were you expecting?” 

She shrugs and takes another sip of coffee before suggesting innocently “I don’t know. Maybe I thought you were roaming Riverdale picking up unsuspecting Northside girls to get under their skirts.” 

He chokes out a laugh and looks at her in disbelief. 

“Oh no, Sweetheart! You don’t get to pin that one on me. I offered to drive you home. Everything else? That’s on you, babe,” he points out, amused.

She opens her mouth to argue but, before she gets into full-on debate mode, she does a quick mental recount. 

She was the one who demanded a kiss. She initiated the dry-humping. She propositioned him. When he teased her this morning, she was the one who challenged him and then basically begged for him to take her. Every step of the way, Sweet Pea has followed _her_ lead.

Betty closes her mouth.

_Strumpet, indeed._

“Well. Damn,” she breathes out and that makes him laugh. She looks up at him with a crooked smile. “Should I apologize for leading you astray with my feminine wiles?”

“Fuck, no!” he barks. “I was already unredeemable before you got here, Cupcake.” 

For a few seconds, they look and smile at each other with an easy sort of chemistry that doesn’t match the amount of time they have known one another. Then, Betty observes how the amusement in Sweet Pea’s gaze morphs into something softer. Her freshly wounded heart bleeds a little at seeing this expression in eyes that are not deep seas of blue. Something akin to panic rises in her chest. But, since she can’t quite stand up and run away, she does the next best thing and hides her face in her mug. She hears Sweet Pea clear his throat.

“What about you? What do preppy Northsiders do on weekends? Cultivate school spirit and knit flowery cardigans?”

She smirks. “Are we talking about Northsiders in general or just one in particular?”

He gives her a pointed stare. “I don’t really give two fucks about Northsiders in general. You’re the only one I care to know _anything_ about.”

Betty’s mouth goes dry.

_Relax, Betty. This is not him confessing his undying love for you. This is him saying he hates the Northside._

Betty distracts herself with the coffee again, her heartbeat in her throat. When she feels mostly collected, she raises her eyes back up.

“I _had_ plans,” Betty starts, “but they were with someone whom we shall not name nor talk about.” Sweet Pea emits a growl that sounds suspiciously like _fuckwad_. She chooses to ignore it. “So I suppose it will mostly be just me and homework. I might hang out with Kevin,” she hazards. “You may remember him, he used to go out with Joaquin.” He nods his recollection. “Anyway. I’m having breakfast with Veronica this morning.” She pauses. “Speaking of which…”

“You want me to give you a ride?” he surmises.

She bites down a smile. “If you don’t mind.”

“An excuse to get you all over me? I’m in.” He winks and grins, closing the notebook.

“Hey! You haven’t shown me your drawing.”

“Still not done. I guess you’ll just have come by some other time, huh?” he comments casually.

_You’re not fooling anyone, bud._

She rolls her eyes, relieved that he is back to his teasing, roguish self.

A few minutes later, they are climbing down his front steps and Sweet Pea is handing her his leather. His gaze heats up noticeably once she is all geared up. 

“Yeah. This does something for you,” he says with hungry eyes.

Betty can’t tell if it’s the black leather, the fact that it’s _his_ jacket or the Serpent part, but Sweet Pea looks at her like she’s peeling her clothes off rather than adding more. Either way, she feels like preening at his reaction. There’s undoubtedly something intoxicating about having this tall, tough Serpent’s rapt attention.

She climbs on the seat behind him and can immediately tell it feels different than it had the night before. It feels like her whole body is thrumming. Her nose against his plaid shirt, she’s immediately overtaken with the smell of him, making her core feel heavy and hot. 

On their way to the Pembrooke, Betty discovers that it doesn’t matter that holding on to Sweet Pea while they ride through Riverdale is perfectly innocent. It doesn't matter because now she _knows_ what his body feels, smells and tastes like. Just as he knows about hers. And when she imagines her arms and legs around him in a whole different way, it’s not purely the stuff of fantasies (although she is pretty certain the position she’s conjuring up would be physically impossible to re-enact in reality). That intimate knowledge of him she acquired opens up possibilities. Very real, concrete possibilities of which her body is all too aware. There is simply no way for Betty to be in his close proximity and forget about that titillating fact.

_Thank goodness, he doesn't go to Riverdale High. That would be catastrophic for my GPA._

The Pembrooke is only ten minutes away and the ride is way too quick. It seems she’s developing a taste for motorcycle riding and she idly wonders what her mother would say if she asked for one. She can already picture her mom’s head exploding and smiles at the thought. 

Sweet Pea parks his bike on the curb and helps her down. Betty slips out of his jacket and hands it back to him. He shrugs it on and she can’t help but note how much more like himself he looks with his hulking frame clad in leather.

They take a few steps towards the building in silence.

“So,” he starts just as she says, “Yeah, hum…”

They look at each other expectantly before letting out a short, shaky laugh. He rubs the back of his neck nervously.

“Now that you got a taste of the Southside, are we gonna see you around the Wyrm on a regular basis or what?” 

His tone is teasing but his eyes are hopeful.

She snorts, looking away. “Very unlikely.”

“Why’s that?” She can _hear_ him frowning.

She scoffs out a bitter laugh, eyes downcast. “After what I did last night? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to show my face at the Whyte Wyrm again. It’s too embarrassing.” 

Betty is taken aback when Sweet Pea abruptly grabs her hand and the side of her face so she’ll look back at him. 

“Hey! I don’t wanna hear that,” he clips, his voice low with anger. “What you did took guts. You were fucking brave! Except for the beanie-wearing _moron_ , you won’t find _one_ Serpent who’d disagree with that. And if you do, you can fucking send the shitheads my way. Now, if Jones is too much of a goddamn asshole to see what you did for the fearless commitment that it actually was, well, fuck _him_. Ok?”

Betty gapes up at him with her breath caught in her throat. 

Suddenly, he is every bit the tall, scowling Serpent who emerged from the shadows in that parking lot. Looming and angry. She senses his boiling temper ready to erupt at the first trigger. All that readied-up violence, all of that pent-up fury… directed at anyone who would dare shame or mock her for dancing on that stage.

Betty feels tears threatening to spill out. Unable to think of anything appropriate to say, she steps into him, grips the lapels of his jacket and captures his mouth with a hard kiss. Sweet Pea responds voraciously, digging his fingers against her scalp. It is nothing but a storm of lips, tongue and teeth, but she hopes he understands how much his words mean to her. 

After a moment, when Betty feels the tension leave his body, they come up for air. She leans back and stares up at Sweet Pea. 

“Ok,” she says softly.

His face cracks into a side-smile. “Ok.”

For a few seconds, Sweet Pea just looks at her, not making any move to get back to his motorcycle. 

“Give me your phone?” He ends up asking.

She unlocks it before handing it over. He goes straight for the messaging app and sends himself a text before giving the phone back to her.

“If you ever need anything or you’re in the mood for a ride or you just wanna blow off some steam, give me a shout.”

Betty smirks. “You mean if I ever feel the need to pound someone’s face again you’ll volunteer?” she teases.

Sweet Pea gives her a look so sinful, she feels her face turn scarlet. 

_Damn him._

He bites his lip and gives her an appreciative once-over. “Oh, Cupcake! If you ever feel the need for a good pounding, I’d definitely volunteer.” He chuckles, obviously amused by her heated face. “I can be whatever you need, Kitten.”

His tone is still playfully suggestive when he says this last bit, but his deep brown eyes tell another story. There, is a promise.

He starts backing up towards his motorcycle with a crooked smile.

“See you around, Cooper.”

Without another word, Sweet Pea gets on his bike and takes off.

Shaking her head self-deprecatingly, Betty steps towards the Pembrook’s front doors. She gives Veronica a quick call to let her know she has arrived. As she waits for the elevator, she opens the messaging app to save Sweet Pea’s phone number in her contacts. She looks down at the text he sent himself and blushes up to the roots of her hair (and probably down to her toes). 

_Damn him!_

The text is simply composed of two emojis.

A tongue and a cupcake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think!
> 
> I got so inspired writing this story and reading your lovely comments that I decided to turn this into a series of short fics. Relatively short. I mean, this one was supposed to be a 3-5k one-shot, so... 
> 
> I've started working on the next installment but life is pretty busy right now so it probably won't be up until mid to end of December.


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